The Forbidden Doors Box Set

by Cortney Pearson

  In the evenings she sorts through the wares purchased by Mrs. Tidmouth from the market in town, chopping vegetables, seasoning and preparing meats, mixing puddings and sauces for decadent dinners, which she always gets a small sampling of when they’re finished.

  Mr. Garrett attends more parties than Ada knows are possible for one person to attend. He even invites her to come along, though she politely declines. Newspaper headlines always follow such parties—it is bad enough reading about the Spare-Tooth Bandit and his next victim’s missing eyes or hands. She has no desire to be part of it. The basement door where he sometimes brings those victims is quite close enough.

  She squints against the screams she occasionally hears in the middle of the night from within that door.

  “He is up to something down there,” she mutters to herself at the most recent occurrence. And while she passes that decadent door with its inscribed symbols, she never dares get any closer to it than necessary.

  She also catches him watching her. At first she suspects it’s to check up on her, to see how she’s holding up her responsibilities. But other times there are glimpses in his eyes, admiring glances—a feral sort of hunger in the way he looks at her—that chill her blood.

  In this instance, it happens while she dusts the pictures hanging along the stairs. Ada hums beneath her breath, an old Irish tune her mother taught her, tiptoeing upward to reach the feathers at the tops of the frames. Her hair is tied back by a handkerchief, her pinafore holding a rag in its pocket.

  The feeling latches onto her back, shortening the hairs along her spine. Slowly, Ada lowers her hand and glances at the base of the main stairs.

  Mr. Garrett stands with one foot on the bottom step, one hand braced on the railing, staring up at her as a suitor would do when asking his lady for a dance.

  Ada swallows, the heat of his gaze churning in her stomach like oncoming influenza. She takes a step back, uncertain how to act. There is no way to conceal the fact that she’s seen him admiring her.

  He should not be looking at her as he does now, as though she were an animal set to slaughter and adorn his table for the evening meal.

  “What an efficient job you do, Miss Havens,” he says, unperturbed at being caught.

  Ada feels the need to adjust her clothing, to bedeck herself in thick blankets so he can see nothing more of her than a lump on a cushion.

  “I do my best, sir.” She rises to take the stairs, praying he speaks no more to her. She rushes up to the landing, leaning against the wall for support. Her heart pounds like a trapped creature in its cage.

  What does he mean by looking at her like that? Whether it’s to be closer to her or to spill her blood, that is no way for a master to look at his servant.

  Ada pauses just behind the walnut tree with her father’s book of poetry tucked beneath one arm. She intended on finding somewhere quiet to read for her afternoon off and enjoying a bit of fresh air.

  But Thomas’s sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and he bends in a repetitive motion, swinging the axe to split each log placed on the stump. Sunlight spills all around him. Sweat collects at his temples, and he lets his brown hair slip into his eyes and cover his flushed skin. After several moments, he pauses to let the air cool his brow.

  Ada finds herself captivated by the sight of him, wondering again how a man like Thomas Gates became ensnared working for a man like Augustus Garrett.

  “Much the same way I did, I suppose,” she says to herself. Blackmailed and desperate for a better life than the one she was living. Did Thomas lose family as she did? Did Thomas see too much, as she did? Ada shivers. Knowing what Mr. Garrett is capable of, how can she continue working for him?

  How can Thomas?

  It’s a question that plagues her daily, and the answers are never satisfying enough to be truly justified. Still, she can’t bring herself to leave.

  Thomas swings the axe with a definitive chunk, splitting a final log where the pieces tumble to either side. He bends for the severed remains, toppling one over the other to the stack on his arms and carries them toward the back door.

  Ada watches his long gait, her mind rambling with questions, with doubts and uncertainty, but mostly with curiosity.

  Thomas catches her eye and pauses, diverting his course after a shifty glance toward the house.

  “Miss Havens. I could have taken you for a wraith, so quiet were you here by this door.”

  Flushed and embarrassed at having been caught watching him—especially since she was perturbed to find their master watching her in a similar fashion—Ada retreats several steps, colliding with the side of the house.

  “Good day, Mr. Gates. I thought I might find you and start our reading lesson.” This isn’t entirely true, but it is as good an excuse for watching him as any.

  “I’d like that,” he says. “But that might be rather difficult with my arms full of wood.” He winks.

  Ada’s cheeks heat. She backs away, one more step, granting him access to the door. Thomas brushes close to her body, out of necessity she knows, but still she cannot help warming at his nearness and finding herself wanting to have him closer. To inspect the flecks of curiosity reflecting in his eyes.

  “It never occurred to me that we may not have similar days off,” she says, closing the door after following him inside. The smell of cloves and cinnamon boiling on the stove waft through the room.

  “If all the servants took their time off at once, what would the master do?”

  Ada doesn’t answer, but treads along the carpet, passing Thomas to reach the fireplace first.

  “Now, Miss Havens,” he says from behind her. “Why have we never thought of this before?”

  She turns to face him. “Thought of what before?”

  “Meeting in secret for these reading lessons of yours.”

  “In secret?”

  His voice lowers. “Once I set this wood down, you’ll have my full attention.”

  Her stomach burns. She takes a log from Thomas and adds it to the stack on the hearth.

  “Reading is much easier when done near firelight,” she says.

  Thomas’s brow twitches. “Is reading all we’ll be doing then?” He bends to place the rest of the wood onto the stack.

  Ada’s heart flutters at the implication, at the intense way his eyes capture her when he stands again.

  “Did you have something else in mind?” she manages, despite the blood racing through her veins.

  His brows twitch. “Actually, I thought we—”

  “Thomas!”

  The voice booms from her left, shattering the bubble of intimacy building between them. Ada jumps, placing a hand on her chest.

  Augustus Garrett scowls from the rounded entrance separating the kitchen from the dining area. He wears a black suitcoat, vest, and cravat, his graying hair slicked away from his face.

  “Mr. Garrett,” Ada declares, hearing too late the guilt in her own voice. How long has he been standing there? Did he hear their conversation?

  “In future it would be wise to use the private entrance, Thomas,” Garrett growls.

  “Yes, sir.” Thomas hastens to straighten his spoils near the fireplace before stamping all the way to the door beside the sink and exiting without another word.

  Mr. Garrett’s scowl softens once the door closes behind him. Ada dips her head, chiding herself for being so forward with Thomas where so many others could hear. What was he about to say?

  “Enjoying your afternoon, Ada?” Mr. Garrett grits through his teeth. Without waiting for a reply, he slips into the dining room and out of sight.

  Ada exhales a larger breath than she knew she was holding and scurries to slip outside after Thomas. She wraps the scarf Mrs. Tidmouth gave her snugly around her and hugs her book to her chest.

  Thomas skulks toward the stables, head down, hands in h
is pockets. He’s retrieved his coat from wherever he laid it before chopping wood.

  “Thomas!” Ada calls to him, hoping to catch him before he enters the stables.

  He pauses, glancing back at her. She quickens her pace, squinting up at him in the bright sunlight.

  “Thomas—Mr. Gates, I apologize if I have caused you any trouble with Mr. Garrett.”

  He shrugs. “It is nothing I don’t get myself into.” He squints back toward the house. “He did seem rather bothered at the sight of us together, didn’t he?”

  Ada dips her chin. Us. Together.

  “Ada? May I call you Ada?”

  Her heart swells within her chest. She gives him a solid nod, waiting to hear what he has to say next.

  Thomas steps closer. “Ada, are you…do you feel safe working here? I admit I have noticed Mr. Garrett’s attention toward you isn’t completely within the boundaries it should be.”

  Her eyes widen. How on earth should she answer that? Of course she doesn’t feel entirely safe here, but what other choice does she have? Return to the streets, subject herself to the poor house?

  “I am perfectly safe, Mr. Gates, but thank you for asking.”

  He eyes her with suspicion. “I’m not so sure that you are, and it is for that very reason I am holding myself back.”

  “Holding yourself back from what?”

  “From courting you.”

  The breath leaves her lungs.

  Thomas chews his lip and hooks a thumb beneath one of his suspender straps within his coat. “I should like to get to know you better, Miss Havens.”

  “Ada,” she hears herself correct.

  This wins her a warm, gentle smile from Thomas. He steps closer. “Ada.”

  “Yes?” Her voice is far too airy, but she can scarcely manage anything stronger, what with her heart pounding as it is.

  He glances around a few times, searching for anyone who might overhear. His voice lowers further. “I realize what I’m about to say is as foolhardy as it can possibly be. But would you consent to meet with me this evening? In the stables? I should very much like for these lessons of yours to begin.”

  It’s true—she has seen what Thomas claimed to from their master. But Augustus Garrett can hardly hold intentions toward her, can he? He is much older than she. And he is…well, a murderer. The very thought should send her from this house, never to return.

  But here is Thomas Gates, asking her to meet him. Thomas Gates, with his warm brown eyes that glint in the sunlight, Thomas Gates with his courteous, playful manner, with his protective way of walking her home, of warning her of Mr. Garrett.

  The particles in the air become palpable. She works to catch her breath.

  She shouldn’t. They shouldn’t. She needs the position, and chances are, so does Thomas. And who knows what a master like Augustus Garrett will do to them if he finds out?

  But that smile, those eyes, and the heat collecting between himself and her are too much to ignore. She finds herself agreeing before sense can override desire.

  “I should like that very much,” she hears herself say.

  Thomas grins. “Then I shall see you at midnight.”

  seven

  Ada has never noticed the clocks this vividly. How loudly they tick. How wide their faces, and worst of all, how slowly they move! She fumbles through every chore—spilling the ashes she cleans from Mr. Garrett’s fireplace, knocking over a fine porcelain pitcher as she attempts to remove the carpet from the parlor for its cleaning. She nearly burns the hot cross buns requested by her master, then hurries to complete her nightly chores, blow out her bedroom candle, and wait for the hours until midnight to crawl by.

  For weeks now she hasn’t helped but notice Thomas’s presence every time he’s near, but having spoken so secretly with him, having an inkling of his returned interest only feeds hers all the more. They spoke only a few minutes, but the idea of having more time with him, of her company being wanted by him, nearly drives her to the point of delirium.

  Tonight. Midnight tonight. She would meet him. She would be alone with him, without prying eyes or unwanted ears.

  A heavy scream startles her, sending ice cubes down the arms and back of the dress she neglected to change out of. Several doors slam below, and Ada emerges, anxious to settle her rattling nerves.

  “How much longer can this go on, sir?” insists a frightened Mrs. Tidmouth, fingers pinching the collar of her dressing gown at the base of the stairs. Ada bends over the banister, hoping for a better look.

  “I am on the ninth, madam,” Garrett assures Mrs. Tidmouth. He’s in shirtsleeves and wearing that apron of his.

  Sweat collects in Ada’s palms. The ninth what?

  That apron means he’s been in the basement. It means he’s been working on his gruesome project. It was once white, but if she were to stand close by, she knows she would see bloodstains smearing the fabric.

  The older woman lifts her chin. “I could give you a tongue lashing for waking us all and giving us such a fright.”

  “I told you, you have nothing to fear from me,” says Mr. Garrett. “Not if you leave me to my business. It won’t be much longer now. Back to bed with you.”

  But Ada cannot go back to bed, nor can she wait until midnight. He’s wearing a bloodied apron, and Mrs. Tidmouth is only angry about being awoken?

  Heart pounding, she waits for the sounds of doors closing to cease. Once certain all is quiet again, she throws on her wrap and tiptoes as quickly and quietly down the servant’s staircase as she can by candlelight. She swallows at the sight of the basement door and then, moving tortuously slowly, makes her way out to the stables.

  Her breath puffs in the frigid night air. The cold presses through her thin slippers, but she grits her teeth and lifts a fist to knock on the stable door.

  “Thomas?” she cries in a low whisper.

  The heavy door pushes open, and an older stable hand with gray stubble along his chin and a missing tooth smirks at her.

  “Please, where is Thomas?”

  “Miss Havens?” comes a muffled voice behind the older man. He steps back and Thomas comes forward, concern on his brow. He’s in trousers, shirtsleeves and suspenders, his hair tumbling down his forehead in a way that makes Ada’s stomach fluster.

  With a gauging glance to either side, he guides her into the stable, shutting out the cold. Ada inhales the smell of manure and feed. Hay scatters along the dirty floor. Saddles and other bins whose purpose Ada doesn’t know lie across the horses’ stalls. The large dark carriage is parked further back, set to rest for the night. A potbelly stove glows red in the corner, emitting a fair amount of heat for the space.

  One man pats another on the back and then takes a candle down a narrow passage Ada would not have noticed otherwise.

  “Do you sleep out here?” she asks in surprise, momentarily startled from her urgency. Other men gather around, some brushing down horses, some adjusting feed levels in the animals’ buckets. Several of them laugh at the question.

  “We do,” Thomas says, sticking his hands in his pockets. He glances at the others before leaning in. “And I believe I said midnight.”

  The men laugh again.

  “I couldn’t wait,” Ada says, earning several more hoots and cat calls, insistence pulsing in her ears. She must tell him of the screams. She must see how much he knows.

  Thomas waves them off and pulls her closer to him to speak under his voice. He dips his chin, fighting a smile before leaning in to speak under his breath. “This is a little less discreet, meeting in front of others. But I’ll take it.”

  Ada blinks at the men working around them, seeing them shut things up for the night. One hangs a bridle on a peg and then makes his way down the narrow passage the other had taken. Realization dawns on her—Thomas meant to meet after they’d all gone to bed.

&
nbsp; “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand—”

  “It’s all right,” Thomas says, putting his arm at her back and guiding her toward the hayloft ladder on the left hand side. “They won’t talk, will you boys?”

  “Soul of discretion, I am,” says the older man who answered the door. The other two men nod in agreement, adding more laughter.

  Thomas climbs the ladder first, his footing sure and steady, before reaching down to offer a hand when Ada follows up after. The hay is scratchy and stiff, but not uncomfortable.

  “Where is your book?” Thomas asks, settling himself alongside a stack of hay.

  “Hmm?” Ada stands at the edge, wondering where she should sit. Should she take the open space next to him? And how is she to bring it up? The ninth victim—there can be no other explanation for it. Why so many? Why does he kill at all?

  Thomas offers a hand, answering her silent question. His fingers are warm, the touch singing up her arm. She allows him to guide her to sit next to him. She fans out her skirt, smoothing it as much as possible. The soft light from the potbelly stove flickers from below, giving enough of a gleam so they aren’t in total darkness.

  “Our reading lessons?” he says, amused.

  “Oh. I’m afraid reading slipped my mind.” Among the screams and other implications she hadn’t thought to bring a book out with her.

  “Pity,” he says with a grin, securing his arm tighter around her. Ada’s stomach tautens, but she doesn’t shy away from the embrace. It helps. It makes her feel as though she isn’t falling apart after all.

  “Thomas, I wonder if I can ask you a question.”

  “Please do.” There is an eagerness in his eyes, as though he has something already on his mind and is hoping she’ll open the floodgate. She doesn’t know which question she would rather bring to light first. Her suspicions about their employer, the strange, eerie way she feels near the man, or the heat blazing through her being so near to Thomas.