by The Charmer
George stepped forward grandly, in full royal mode. “No, my dear.” His fruity, formal, oftmimicked tones were unmistakably Prince George’s. “There is no need for you to take the blame for my blunder. I shall merely explain—”
Rose, who had been gazing at the masked, black-clad George with impatient mystification, suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh!” She raised a shaking finger to point at George. “You’re—you’re the Prince Regent!”
Collis thought she was taking it awfully hard. Then again, housemaids didn’t often happen onto monarchs. George had apparently come to the same conclusion, for he bowed deeply, then stepped forward with a soothing smile.
“Oh, bugger!” Rose’s horrified, breathless curse stopped them both in their tracks.
“Really, Rose,” Collis said uncomfortably. “Such language—”
The study door crashed open. Several hastily dressed footmen blundered through to blink at the three standing before the smashed case and stand. “Got you!” the lead man growled. “Thought you’d make off with the plate, did you?”
Resigned, Collis stepped forward with his hand out peaceably. “No need to worry, good sirs. If you’ll simply wake the master, we can explain—”
“Collis, catch!”
Collis spun at Rose’s cry, instinctively snatching out of the air the iron poker she tossed him. She flung the ornamented coal shovel to the Prince and brandished the fire tongs like a short sword. “Now!”
She charged at the group of servants like a small mobcapped jouster. George sent a confused shrug at Collis, then followed her, wielding his shovel like a cricket bat at the scrambling servants.
Collis saw the leader raise a skinning knife high in the air, his vicious eyes intent on Rose. Collis let out a great roar, rushing the man.
The knife came down in a shimmering arc. He wasn’t going to be in time! Collis threw the poker like a spear and it thudded into the man’s chest. Rose dodged, the man went down, and the last servants still standing scrambled out of Collis’s way. A fortunate thing, as he had no intention of stopping.
Rose and the Prince ran ahead, escaping the house by the simple expedient of flying out the front door. Collis chased after them into the night.
After turning the street corner, Rose slowed finally. She waited for the puffing prince and Collis to join her. “Quickly, we must go to ground!” She was pale and kept looking behind them urgently.
“Enough.” Collis stopped in his tracks. “Rose, we’ve already failed the test. We were ordered to obtain the information without being discovered. It’s a bit late now to worry, don’t you think?”
“Damn the test! There is no test!” She shook her head. “Or there is, but not at that house.” She sent another worried look behind them. “Collis, we must go! We must get His Highness to safety!”
Collis narrowed his eyes. “If you’re worried that you’ll be blamed for the Prince’s presence, don’t. I intend to take full responsibility.”
George, who had been saving his energy for inhaling and exhaling, waved a pudgy hand. “No need, no need, my boy. I’ll own up to wanting a bit of a holiday.”
A distant shout sounded behind them. Rose squeaked and tugged at both their sleeves with surprising force. “Run!” she barked.
Collis found himself running. Stupidity now lending itself to imbecilic. Why were they running? Still, the cries coming from behind them sounded anything but sham. Perhaps the servants hadn’t been informed of the test. If so, then deservedly angry footmen could quite possibly do damage to George before matters could be sufficiently sorted out.
Yes, running was sounding better by the moment.
They raced down the deserted street. It was so late that some of the lamps had burned all their oil already or else had blown out in the gusting dampness. The air hung heavy with storm as it had all day and night, making it seem oddly dense to run through.
George was puffing loudly now, drowning out any sounds from their pursuers. Collis kept an eye on him, but so far he seemed well enough, if winded. Rose darted ahead, seeking out alleys to dash down and deserted streets to follow. They weren’t fast enough, weren’t going to make it free of their hunters—
“Aha!” George suddenly surged ahead of Rose and dashed down a side alley. Rose and Collis followed. The alley turned twice before ending in a wall that glistened damply in the pre-dawn haze. Rose turned immediately to run back, but Collis caught her arm. “No, you’ll run right out in front of them. We’ll have to climb those drainpipes.”
As one, they turned to eye the maze of drainpipes that snaked down the buildings on all three sides. Heavy pipes of iron meant to keep water from collecting on the rooftops, held on by brackets bolted into the mortar, they could provide a ladder of sorts for Rose and Collis. But George would never make it.
Collis shuddered at the thought of losing the Prince to a fall to his death. “Never mind. We’ll simply have to take our chances with the house lackeys.”
“No.” She couldn’t let it happen. God, how could she have been so stupid? Rose took the Prince by one arm and dragged him into a shabby doorway. “Stay very still,” she hissed. She snuffed his lantern and left him in the dark.
Then she grabbed Collis and pulled him with her into the only other opening available, a coal chute. The iron door creaked when they lifted it down, though Rose pressed her apron to the hinges to mask the noise.
They scrambled feet-first into the steeply angled chute, leaving the iron door hanging open. Hopefully, it would not be obvious in the darkness.
The chute was a tight fit for two. All the better to keep them from sliding all the way to the cellar, but Rose wished she had thought about the fact that Collis would be very nearly on top of her.
Every inch of where his body pressed to hers began to glow like embers ready to flare. She could feel his breath on her neck like a torch on her chilled skin. She couldn’t help a tiny shift of her head, just a slight tilt to the side to expose more of her flesh to him.
She told herself it was necessary in order to hear better, but the fact was, she was scarcely listening anyway. The only sound she was attuned to was the thunder of her own blood through her veins and the matching beat of his racing heart near her ear.
The chute was like a world within the world, the filthy walls a shield of timeless power that made them the only two people in the universe for that one endless moment.
“Rose.” His whisper was nearly a growl. Her body pulsed from within at the animal ache she heard in the simple vowels of her name. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. And what was so wrong with such wanting? She couldn’t remember anymore.
Whatever her reasons for denying her longing, they seemed paltry and weak and entirely ignorable. With a slight shift of her body, she bore into his strength, pressing into his hard and solid body as if she wished to sink within.
His hand came up her side, slowly sliding up the curve of her waist. He paused when he encountered the side of her breast. She stopped breathing, but he moved on after a single timeless beat to cup her shoulder in his large hand.
“Rose.” He shook her slightly. “Rose, I think they’ve gone past us.”
She blinked. Gone? Who?
Then the horrifying icy rush of reality deluged her. She was smearing herself all over him! And he hadn’t been whispering her name in mutual lust, he’d been practically begging her to stop! She jerked back, nearly writhing in horrified embarrassment. They clambered from their hiding place, and Rose moved quickly away from him.
Thank God it was dark in the alley, or she’d have to die right here on this very spot. Her heated flush was hidden, as were the excited points of her nipples and her no-doubt dewy-eyed expression. “Do try to make less of a target next time,” she hissed at him. “God knows you’re a hard bloke to hide as it is.”
Collis didn’t say a word. Well, he couldn’t reply, could he? Not until his towering erection faded and his blood returned to feed his brain with something other
than white-hot images of Rose naked and sweating and crying his name. What was his name again?
“Collis.” Rose’s irritated whisper cut through the darkness to remind him. “Move it along, will you?”
“Coming, Mummy,” he whispered back, desperate to regain his jesting equilibrium. Whatever the hell that moment of animal insanity had been, he didn’t want Rose to know about it. She’d likely never let him forget it.
And forgetting was good. Especially when the woman he was having badly timed daydreams about wasn’t interested in breathing the same air as him, much less sharing the same sheets.
Please, someone run me through. I’ve gone and fastened my passions to a woman who would just as soon have me fall from the Tower onto a pile of rocks.
There’d be no dealing with her if she knew. She’d lord it over him until he took his pistol and put himself out of his misery.
George had emerged from his own hiding place and was bending to peer at the grimy cobbles paving the floor of the alley. They slanted downward from each side, so that a small valley formed in the center for drainage, now traced by a thin trickle of water shining silver against the black cobbles. “I know it’s here somewhere….” He began to run back along the way they had come.
Collis and Rose followed. “Where’s your poker?” she asked him. She still brandished her tongs, and George still carried his shovel as well as his lantern. Collis clapped his good hand to his side, relieved to find that his bad arm still pinned the tube to his side. “I, ah, threw it away,” he said weakly.
Rose rolled her eyes. At least, he was sure she had, despite the dimness. She turned away from him to catch up to George, who was squatting in the alley, tugging at something with both hands, his shovel and lantern on the ground beside him.
“What is it, Your Highness?” Collis was trying to be patient, but the sounds of pursuit were definitely growing louder. The footmen had found the alley.
“Help me lift this grate,” George gasped. “Tunnel.”
Collis and Rose bent swiftly to help. The grate was cemented in place with years of accumulated please-don’t-ask, and was cast of heavy iron to boot, but they managed to shift it after Rose thought to dig the Prince’s shovel into the seam as a sort of lever. In turn, they all dropped through, only to find that the fall was far longer than they’d thought.
When the footmen finally scouted the alley, they found nothing but a bent shovel and an open grate. When they cast the light from their lanterns into the hole, they could see nothing but darkness below.
Louis Wadsworth stood in his dressing gown and slippers in the middle of his luxurious study, regarding the mess of shattered glass and mahogany that had once housed his masterpiece.
Many men, finding their dreams in pieces on the floor, would have ranted, raged, even wept. Louis made it a practice to never raise his voice. He never allowed anger to sweep him up the way it had his father.
Acting in the heat had killed the senior Mr. Wadsworth. Louis much preferred acting with cold. He hadn’t lost his temper in years. No, not since the incident with that silly housemaid when he was not much more than twenty. Of course, that sort of thing scarcely mattered, but it had taught Louis a valuable lesson.
So there were no bellows, no shouts—no words at all. Behind him, he could feel his loyal retainers becoming more and more concerned for their skins. Shuffling stances, rustling clothing, even the occasional daring whispered question to each other—he let their fear wash over him, soothing him. They expected rage. Why satisfy their expectations? It was much more droll to turn and smile at them all. He did so.
If anything, the tension in the room was heightened by his action. Worry crystallized into terror. Louis would have laughed, if he ever laughed. Still, the shrinking of his sturdy crew did much to set his mood to rights.
“I wonder,” he said softly, and watched half of them start at the sound of his voice. “I wonder how someone entered my locked house, entered my locked study, discovered a very secure hiding place, wreaked havoc in my innermost domain, and then absconded with some very important materials without you lot getting so much as a good look at him.”
“Them, sir.”
Louis focused on one of the steadier examples of the lot. “Them…how many?”
“Two,” said some.
“Three,” said others. The group was about divided in half. Louis waited, imagining his patience stretching like a victim on the rack.
“There was two men, sir,” said the first one to speak. “A tall one and a fat one. The fat one were masked, like a highwayman.”
“Three,” argued another. His voice quavered, however.
Louis tilted his head, examining the protester as if he were a not very interesting insect. The man continued, blurting out words as if he spoke against his will.
“There were the fat one, the tall one, and the wo—” The man next to him coughed sharply. The speaker hesitated, then continued. “The wee one.”
One of the others made a slight noise at that, then shut up. Louis breathed in deeply. “Tell me about the tall one. The one without the mask.”
The first and bravest speaker nodded. “He were right tall, sir. And black-haired. Youngish, or at least, not old.”
Louis exhaled smoothly. He had met a man such as that this very day. Had brought him to the house, although not to the study. A man with very interesting connections—connections that had done Louis’s family rather astonishing amounts of harm. Still, he himself had profited nicely from that harm, so he hadn’t been inclined to take it personally.
Until now. Louis eyed the first speaker for a long moment. The fellow regarded him warily, but without the abject fear of the others. A strong one. He could be useful.
“I have a little job for you.” Louis waved a gentle hand at the others. “You lot can go. Have a pint of beer and charge it to me. Not too much now. I may have need of you later.”
The stupid louts relaxed, blinking at him in surprise and pleasure. They left with much crude clomping of boots, leaving tiny traces of the street on his priceless carpet. Louis pondered the meager streaks for a long moment. His chosen man waited patiently, hands clasped behind his back.
The fellow was obviously of better make than his fellows. More intelligent, more stalwart. Perhaps capable of actual independent thought.
“Yes, you’ll do nicely.” Louis described his wishes to the fellow, who took it all in without requiring a word of simplification or explanation.
He nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it immediately.”
Louis smiled serenely. “Excellent. Oh, and tell the butler to have this carpet taken up and burned, will you?”
The man nodded briskly and set off on his mission. Louis watched him go with satisfaction. The perfect man for the job. Independent thought, indeed.
Of course, once the fellow was successful, Louis was going to have to have him killed. There was no place for independent thought in this household. No, none at all.
“See? I told you I knew the tunnels.” The Prince’s pleased voice rang oddly through the tunnel, bouncing off the stone walls to boom and fade in their ears.
“This is hardly a royal passage, Your Highness.”
“No,” chortled George. “Merely an access to one. This way now.” His lantern and his good spirits were lit once more.
Rose, on the other hand, seemed none too happy about being below the city to Collis. She walked a few steps ahead, between him and the Prince. She’d said nothing since her first gasp when they’d dropped into several inches of chill water running down the tunnel. The tunnel smelled like hell, of course, so perhaps she was merely busy mouth-breathing as much as possible—but Collis didn’t think so.
She was breathing very fast, in halting little gasps like a child trying very hard not to cry, and her grip on her weapon of choice, the fire tongs, caused grotesque shadows as it shook with her trembling.
George, however, was in his element. He danced ahead of them with the lantern
for all the world like a boy skipping out on his tutor. “I learned these tunnels at my father’s knee—well, actually, I snuck the plans from his royal office. But in my day I used them aplenty. Oh, the mischief I got up to!”
“Mischief, my foot,” muttered Rose, so low Collis could scarcely hear her. “Little rotter playing treason on a schoolboy holiday.”
That startled a laugh from Collis. “What are you talking about?”
He saw her eyes flicker up to his, then away. “Did I say that out loud?” she squeaked. “I wasn’t talking about anything—no, not a thing! Silly twit, whistling in the dark, that’s me.” She walked faster, her head bent so Collis couldn’t see her face. He thought he heard another whisper—“Bloody stupid, you’ll get yourself hanged, see if you don’t!”
Apparently, Rose talked to herself…at least in the dark. Interesting theory. Collis couldn’t wait to hear more.
“Why will you get yourself hanged? And what did you say about treason?”
“Shut it. Shut it. The walls have ears.” The words hissed faintly back his way.
He laughed out loud, the sound ringing hollow in the tunnel. “Rose, the walls don’t even have walls!”
George paused in his role as jolly leader. “What are you two going on about back there?”
“I’m frightened of the dark,” Rose blurted. “Can’t bear it, not one moment longer. Please-may-I-carry-the-lantern?”
George seemed surprised that anyone else would want it but handed it over willingly enough. Rose held the wire handle for a long moment, then handed it back. “No, no good at all. It isn’t the dark. It’s the underground part.”
In the circle of sickly yellow light, Collis could see how large and profoundly frightened Rose’s eyes had become. Seeing her this way, he felt bad for teasing her. He took her cold little hand in his again. “Rose, we’re safe as houses. These tunnels have been here for decades, or even longer.”
“Then they’re due to collapse, to my way o’ thinkin’!”
