Harkworth Hall

by L. S. Johnson

“Grenade.” She frowned, poking one of the sacks with the poker. “Plus shot, and those barrels are gunpowder, I’m certain.” She looked at me darkly. “We suspected Masterson and his brother were dealing in arms, the better to advance their cause. Or did he not regale you with his speech on how diplomacy is another word for cowardice?” When I only shook my head, she smiled bitterly. “It is not enough to simply protect England, it seems. He would have us conquer the world, no matter how many he must kill to make that happen.”

  “But why poor Emily, of all people?”

  “I told you, Miss Daniels. He needs—”

  Above us came the unmistakable sound of a door opening. “Chase?” The voice echoed down the staircase. “Is that you down there?”

  “We must hide,” I whispered urgently.

  Miss Chase ran her fingers across the side of a crate, where LEVIATHAN was painted in grey paint. “If only there was something—paperwork, something that could serve as proof...” she trailed off, then nodded at the tunnel. “Ladies first,” she said more firmly.

  Footsteps were descending, slowly, cautiously. Again, Sir Edward’s voice came, closer this time. “It was neat work with Mister Kensington, Chase. I did not think you had it in you. It seems you have adapted to more than merely the dress of your chosen sex.”

  As I ducked into the tunnel Miss Chase caught my arm. She dipped the wick of the grenade into the lamp, then gave me a shove. “Run!” she whispered.

  The voice, the first hints of light flickering on the stairwell, the burning wick—it all provoked me, and I ran. I ran faster than I knew I could, my legs unencumbered by skirts and my fears overcoming all propriety. Ahead of me, the tunnel was a few feet of lamp-lit earth leading into darkness. I could sense no fresh air ahead, no opening; still I ran blindly forward. It turned, it dipped, the walls shrank and opened up and shrank again. Behind me, I heard Miss Chase’s panting breath, and far behind us both, the muffled sound of Sir Edward’s voice barking orders.

  The air seemed to fill with a sudden pressure. A moment later, a great booming noise echoed through the tunnel followed by a gust of hot, filthy air laced with debris. The force of the wind sent me to my knees and blew the lamp from my hand; Miss Chase fell atop me in turn. I was stung in a dozen places, I knew not by what or how. From behind us came screams, yells, and other, more terrible cries.

  My breath would not come. The air tasted of smoke, smoke and a warmth that scalded my throat. Miss Chase groaned into my neck, and I carefully worked us both into a sitting position, gulping air and coughing. Her limbs were tangled awkwardly with mine and it took some doing to ease her upright. When I managed to trace my hands up to her face, I felt wetness.

  “Keep moving,” she rasped.

  “We will,” I said, surprised at the rough sound of my own voice. Before she could speak further, I wrapped her arm around my shoulders. My suspicions were borne out as her knees buckled, nearly sending us both to the ground again, but then she managed to steady herself, shaking her head over and over, her tousled hair brushing against my face. Slowly, carefully, we began an ungainly, hunched crabwalk along the tunnel, our heads lowered to avoid the worst of the smoke. In the darkness, the walls seemed to press in upon us, as we kept lurching against one or the other, and it was all I could to do keep from imagining that the very tunnel was collapsing upon us. I ignored the sounds behind me; surely, if we were so affected by the explosion, our pursuers would only be moreso. Besides, we had worries of our own. My eyes were watering from the smoke; if we didn’t find air soon, we might suffocate.

  The tunnel floor dipped beneath our feet. So focused was I on keeping Miss Chase steady, maintaining what little pace we had, and not envisioning ourselves entombed in dirt, that I did not notice the change at first. A sudden sharp decline, however, made us skid a few feet, and then I hesitated. Where was this leading to? What if we did, indeed, come to a dead end, or a collapsed section? There was not a soul who knew where we were, save those men who had followed us, and they would not care a whit about our fates.

  “You should go ahead,” Miss Chase muttered, as if she had been listening to my thoughts. “Get out, get help.”

  “Certainly not,” I replied, though I heard the lack of conviction in my own voice.

  “There is no point in both of us dying.”

  “There is no point in such talk.” I began walking again. “We began this together, we shall finish it together.”

  She made a strange noise then. For a moment, I thought she was having a seizure, and then I realized she was laughing, only the lack of air was making her gasp. “God save us from pretty country girls,” she giggled.

  I blushed, and for once I was thankful for the darkness.

  “God save us from pretty, tack-sharp country girls,” Miss Chase said again, still sniggering. “And their lovely smiles and their lovely curvy figures, and how they look at murdering bastards like they would eat them for dinner and take a stroll in the gardens after...”

  “Miss Chase!” I was blushing terribly now. I was also alarmed—was she hallucinating? “We must focus on our circumstances, not—not this.”

  “I am Joanna Chase and I am going to die in the arms of the prettiest woman I’ve seen in ages,” she said, her voice wistful. “I am utterly focused on my circumstances.”

  “You’re mad,” I blurted out.

  “And perverse, and unnatural, and I am blaming you for everything,” she said. “Have you seen yourself in breeches?”

  “Miss Chase, for God’s sake—”

  “Jo,” she interrupted.

  I swallowed. “Jo,” I began, but then I could not think of what I meant to say. I was suddenly aware of every part of my body she pressed against, of the warmth of her breath on my neck. Indeed, I felt as if I could see her looking at me, though to look at her was to see only the black space we were in.

  She stopped then, leaning heavily against me. “It’s pointless,” she mumbled.

  “Oh.” Still, I could not think. Her arms were around me. What was pointless?

  “We have been walking too long; we should have come out somewhere by now. I am so, so sorry, Miss Daniels.” Her voice was trembling; she sounded on the verge of tears. “I should never have brought you down here, I should have insisted you leave, I should have told you everything the moment we arrived—”

  “Caroline,” I interrupted.

  “What?” She sniffled.

  “If I am to call you Jo, you should call me Caroline.” I touched her face gingerly. “You must have hurt yourself badly, you’re saying the strangest things—”

  Her lips pressed against mine. For a fumbling moment, my mouth was crushed by hers; but then instinct took over—oh! It was instinct and more, so much more. The feel of her, the taste of her. She tasted of a sweetness tinged with wine and salt, something that left me breathless and tingling, something that made me want, want beyond words. Her body pressed against mine and her hands tangled in my hair and every party of my body said yes oh yes.

  We broke apart, gasping, and her hands fell away. “I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I, I just... Caroline?”

  I licked my lips, tasting her still, trying to make my addled brain think, find words, do something...

  “Caroline? Say something, please.”

  ...when I realized I tasted not only Miss Chase—not only Jo—but salt. A faint breeze was running across my face, adding the slightest chill to my moistened lips.

  “Jo,” I whispered. “Jo, there’s air.”

  I heard her lick something—a finger? After a moment, she said wonderingly, “The sea?”

  In response, I drew her arm around my shoulders once more. We moved with purpose now, pushing at the dirt that hemmed us in on all sides. With every step, the breeze felt a little stronger, the air a little cleaner. At one point, it gusted, and then we were hurrying as best we could, nearly falling over in our haste. A gleam of light showed us a curve, beyond it was light and flickering shadows and life.

/>   We rounded the bend and halted abruptly, Jo making a little noise in her throat.

  Before us was a circular opening showing the bay and an achingly blue sky, and between us and the water was part of a body, hanging upside down and swinging gently in the breeze. Hanging like meat. Naked like meat, bitten and gnawed like meat. There was what had clearly been a leg, and a hip, and a hint of a woman’s sex—and then there was no more, save flesh so ragged, it dangled like the tassels on the shawl.

  I turned away, breathing deeply, my head spinning. Emily. Emily.

  “He usually throws the body into the sea,” Jo said. “Why keep her here like this?”

  “Because Emily was refused.”

  We both spun about, Jo drawing her pistol and aiming it at Sir Edward, who carefully stepped around the bend and directly in her line of fire. His bare, stubbled head was crusted with blood, his clothes sooty and ragged. A tear in his shirt revealed a mark on his chest, what looked very much like the odd-shaped sun branded on the crates. Behind him were two grubby men, one with a bloodstained face. More shadowy forms filled the tunnel behind them.

  “It happens, on occasion,” he said, his voice as smooth and as rhythmic as if we were back in our dining room. “Perhaps Emily lied about her parentage to me. Perhaps she was simply ignorant of her origins. But the offering was rejected.” He smiled then. It was a cold smile. “Which means I’m in the hole one English female—but, thankfully, I always have at least one in reserve.”

  Instinctively I took a step backwards. Jo moved in front of me.

  “You can shoot me, of course,” he continued, spreading his hands. “But my lads will take care of you nonetheless—they’ll have to, if they want my brother to pay up their wages. Nor will they be kind about it, for you destroyed their bonus back at the Hall.”

  “Then take me,” Jo said. She pushed me back a little more, inching me closer to the edge of the tunnel mouth—and the rotting corpse dangling before it. “My blood is as good as hers, you told me that yourself.”

  “What are you doing?” I whispered. Now that we were close to the edge, I could see just how far we were from the water. Dark rocks jutted out below us. To fall would certainly spell our doom.

  Rocks, the churning surf, and something else, something dark and vast and rippling ...

  “Why should I choose?” Sir Edward laughed, a loud, ringing guffaw that had a note of triumph. “It has already tasted Miss Daniels. The two of you will ensure England’s supremacy at sea for months to come—and make our hold over our minister unbreakable.” He angled his head, turning his dark gaze on me. “I am sorry it must end this way, Miss Daniels. You are a most charming woman. But everyone has to do their part for England.”

  Jo nudged me back again as she primed the pistol, aiming it unerringly at Sir Edward’s head. “Jump,” she whispered. Then, loudly, “You are absolutely correct, sir. We all must do our part.”

  “It is a poor day when the Crown sends a woman after the likes of me,” he replied sadly, then snapped his head. “You know what to do.”

  His men pushed past him, eyeing the pistol warily. I took another step back, trying to think. The rocks were close to the cliff face—if we could somehow clear them—

  Something moved, beneath the water. Wet black skin briefly broke the surface and disappeared.

  The sight distracted me, and in that moment one of the men lunged for us. Jo fired and Sir Edward crumpled forward, tumbling against the second man, who fell against us all. I grabbed Jo and she grabbed Sir Edward and we all fell backwards.

  Bright blue sky, limbs flailing. A fist struck me in the head. I twisted away and below us the waters parted and a great yellow eye appeared.

  All, then, was black roiling reptile, twisting and writhing, and a hot gust of sour air that smelled like a thousand rotting fish. We struck not rock nor water but cold, leathery skin. My arms were locked around Jo’s waist. She was kicking and flailing and I did not let go. I would die before I let go.

  We skidded down the curve of what I knew to be a creature, more vast than anything I had ever seen, more vast than the Hall and its grounds, more vast than the sky above us. We skidded and fell into the churning icy bay, striking what felt like a serpent writhing. It slapped us away and we spun, choking and gagging, across the surface of the water and sank into white froth and waves that seemed to hit us from every direction. Jo was a dead weight in my arms. I kicked off my shoes and managed to push us both up, grabbing her chin to keep her head above water.

  Bright blue sky and then a shadow fell over us. It reared up, water sheeting off its massive, glistening body as it spread several undulating limbs that blotted out the sun. It was serpent and squid and whale and ling and something else, something beyond imagining, and my mind jabbered God God God. From a tentacle, I saw a man dangling by one arm, shouting unintelligibly: Sir Edward. The limb rippled and sent his body sailing far out over the bay, and with a monumental effort the beast twisted and plunged after him. I glimpsed, at the center of its limbs, a vast, round mouth ringed with sharp teeth—

  —oh it wasn’t a sun at all, it had never been a sun—

  —before the water rose in waves higher than the cliffs. Desperately, I pressed my mouth to Jo’s and braced us both for the onslaught. Nothing, nothing, and then we were tumbling in the surf like so much flotsam, our clothes wrenching us about, our faces slapped apart. I gulped air and choked in panic, flailing and kicking, only to realize I was kicking against sand and rocks. Bracing my feet, I pushed us both above the water again, my arms digging into Jo’s stomach; she coughed and vomited water, then began hacking violently.

  We were nestled among the rocks at the far edge of the bay, right where the seawater funneled in. Spray after spray of crashing waves fell over us. I was trembling with cold and exhaustion; my body ached everywhere. The curving cliff face was now marred with a great divot, as if a cannonball had struck near the top. All that remained of the tunnel was a piece of wood jutting out at a sharp angle. Sir Edward, the men, Emily—all were gone. In the distance, I glimpsed a column of smoke rising into the sky. The Hall, I guessed.

  In my arms, Jo shifted, then tried to get purchase on the slippery rocks. I helped her balance beside me. Her face was ashen, with blood running freely down the side of her face, and her whole body was shuddering with cold. Still, she smiled weakly when she looked at me.

  “I stand corrected,” she croaked. “There really is a bloody Leviathan.”

  CHAPTER XV

  Confessions

  THERE WAS NO way to scale the cliff face from where we stood, nor had either of us the strength to try to fight the currents. Thus, it was some time before we were able to hail a fishing boat, which put out a dinghy as close to the rocks as it dared. We swam to that, slowly and laboriously, and it was with utter relief that we let the men pull us in. I did not bother to identify myself, and, indeed, if I looked anything like Jo, I was unrecognizable. Her hair was matted, her face coming up in bruises and crusted with blood, her bedraggled suit little more than a salt-encrusted ruin. Who would think to find Theophilus Daniels’ daughter in such a state? Jo spoke for us both, saying we had gotten too close to the edge and the cliff had given way. That we were both women ensured we were treated with a wary suspicion; Jo’s story, I knew, struck them as improbable, and they had probably seen the smoke from Harkworth Hall much as we had. We were consigned to the back of the boat with a cup of water apiece and a man watching over us. When they finally put in at the village, we were unceremoniously given the night to make ourselves scarce or they would inform the constabulary on us, and with that sending off, we limped from the village as quickly as we could, faint from hunger and reddened from the sun and brine.

  As soon as we were a ways down the road, I tugged Jo into the thin stands of trees that ran alongside. She stumbled after me, sliding her hand into mine to steady herself, and though a small part of my mind warned against it, I could not but admit that it felt good.

  “Isn’t y
our house further on?” she asked.

  “The Fitzroys are closest,” I explained. “My father will be frantic. He’ll have gone to Uncle Stuart straightaway to see if I was there.”

  She tugged me to a halt, leaning against a tree to catch her breath. “Caroline,” she said, “I don’t think we can trust them. Stuart Fitzroy has been dealing with Masterson for some time.”

  For a moment, I missed the import of her words, hearing only the Caroline. Then I realized what she was implying. “Uncle Stuart is no saint,” I retorted, “and he has never seen a profit he wasn’t inclined to take. But if you think he could somehow countenance all of, of that—monsters and, and sacrifices—” I took a breath. “He can be greedy, but he’s not insane,” I said more calmly.

  “It was your Uncle Stuart,” Jo replied in an equally calm voice, “who invited Masterson here and put you directly in his path.”

  Her words felt like a slap. I dropped her hand as if it were a live coal. “If he did, it was because he thought us a good match,” I cried. “That is what fathers do here: they arrange matches for their daughters, good, respectable matches.”

  She gave me a look, but only stood up and began plodding forward again. I fell into step beside her, feeling completely overwrought. Could I say with absolute certainty that Uncle Stuart knew nothing? To have sway over a minister, the opportunities that would provide—could it turn even a man I thought of as family against all human decency?

  How well did I know anyone?

  “Caroline,” Jo said.

  Unwillingly I looked at her.

  “Even if he had been what he claimed,” she said. At my frown, she clarified, “Masterson, I mean. You would have been wasted on him, you know.” She shook her head, smiling wryly. “Someone like you, sewing cushions and making tea? It would almost be as tragic as what happened to Emily.”

  I felt sick then, on top of everything else. I hadn’t wanted to think of Emily. “I hardly think that is an appropriate comparison,” I said.

  “There are many ways to die,” Jo said heavily. “Some die quickly and painfully; some take years, their life dribbling away...” She took my hand and gave it a little squeeze. “Just—just promise me, if you do marry? Make sure it is someone who will let you be yourself. Someone who will let you live, as you deserve to live...”