The Dark Between

by Sonia Gensler

  “Without much in the way of funds, as you might imagine. It was my uncle’s generosity that enabled this trip to Cambridge. I’m certain he was quite bored with my sulks.”

  “And this Letty person? What became of her?”

  “She’s the one who told Father of my theft. As far as I know, she has him under her spell to this day.” He turned away, rubbing again at his eyelids.

  Kate could think of nothing to say, so she held her tongue.

  “Please don’t tell Elsie any of this,” Asher finally said. “It’s so humiliating.”

  That rankled a bit. Was it better to be the one confided in or the one to be protected? She shrugged the question away, peeved by her own peevishness. “Neither of us has any reason to be proud of our fathers. Yours is in love with a medium. Mine kept a secret mistress and died from taking too much chloroform in some bizarre experiment that I still don’t understand.”

  “We’ll learn more tonight, Kate. I fear it won’t be pleasant, but at least we’ll know. And if all goes as it should, we will find damning evidence.”

  Kate nodded. That was what she wanted most—to tie everything together, to finally understand. And, of course, to make the villain pay.

  Chapter 33

  The sight of Kate in boys’ clothing left Asher speechless. He could only stare as Elsie proudly paraded the girl before him. His disquiet must have been obvious, for as soon as they’d slipped away from Summerfield, Kate laid a hand on his arm.

  “Is there something wrong with the clothes? Should I swagger a little more?”

  “No, that’s not it.”

  “Then what’s the matter?”

  How could he say it? In truth, she looked quite fetching in trousers. He’d thought her a rather scrawny girl, but apparently her made-over blouse and skirt had swallowed her form. Now he could see the slimness of her waist, the slight curve of her hips. The unexpected length of her legs. All this added to the way she’d bundled her hair into that cap—so that it drew his eyes to her long neck—left him hardly knowing how to treat her as the same old Kate.

  He forced himself to look away. It was nerves, really. He couldn’t think why else he’d be distracted by such things. “It’s nothing, Kate. I’m just getting accustomed to seeing you in trousers.”

  She cocked her head. “Don’t I make a good boy?”

  “To someone who doesn’t know you, perhaps.”

  He knew, however, that seeing her this way only made him more conscious of her being a girl. And if he didn’t stop acting like a fool, she would know exactly what he was thinking. In fact, she probably already did, for she’d dropped her gaze to the ground.

  “Shall we move on?” he finally said.

  He kept his eyes focused ahead after that, grateful for the silence that fell between them. When they finally reached the wrought-iron gate at the Queen’s Road entrance to Trinity College, he welcomed the strange quivering in his stomach, for it had had nothing to do with Kate.

  “Are you certain you’re ready for this?” he asked her.

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course I am—this was my plan, after all.”

  “You couldn’t have managed it without me.”

  “Don’t be so sure of that.” She reached out to trace the pattern of the wrought iron. “I’ve always admired the Queen’s Road gate. From this side, the college seems full of mystery and secrets. The Great Gate on the other end looks more like a prison tower.”

  “This gate will be easier to enter, but not by much.” He paced the length of it to study the ditch on either side. The water looked to be several inches deep. “I’ll go first. It’s going to take quite a leap to get over this.” He glanced back at her. “Hope you’re not afraid to get those trousers muddy.”

  “That’s why I wore them,” she said mildly.

  He turned back to the ditch. As far as he could tell in the low light, it was shallowest at the southern end of the gate. As he studied the distance, mentally calculating where to take the leap, he heard Kate yawn. Heat came to his cheeks, and he tensed his muscles in preparation. The leap across was quite bold, but he crumpled to his knees upon landing. By the time he’d scrambled up the hill, his hands and knees were filthy with mud.

  “Kate, I’m not sure how you’ll manage.” He wiped his hands on his trousers. “That was harder than I thought.”

  “Oh, I’ll manage,” she said softly.

  He turned to find her dragging a small plank toward the ditch. “Where’d you find that?”

  “Tucked away under the bridge,” she said, gingerly lowering the plank across the ditch. “I figure that’s how Billy got across. I’d wager a student stored it there ages ago.”

  He watched in silence as she neatly stepped sideways across the plank. Once on the other side, she grabbed a low-hanging tree branch and used it to pull herself up the embankment. He offered a hand to ease her final steps toward him.

  “Well done,” he said. “We should avoid the graveled avenue and take the meadow up to the river instead. It may not be smooth going, but I can’t think of any better way in.”

  “I’ll go first.”

  “Kate, you must be stealthy.”

  She chuckled. “Getting around in the dark is what I do best, remember?”

  As they crossed the meadow, Asher thought back to the day he’d lain there and first realized how much he wanted to be part of Trinity. Matters had become so strangely complicated since then. If they could just make it through this night without being locked up for trespassing, he would give serious thought to what he really wanted to do with his life.

  “Stop here,” he whispered, pausing by a tree. “We must cross that bridge. Directly across from us is the Wren Library. We need to get into the courtyard next to it.”

  “New Court,” said Kate.

  He turned to her. “How did you know?”

  “The rowing trip. We had a picnic in the grass over there.”

  “Of course you did,” Asher muttered. “The New Court entrance would be the most direct way to Dr. Marshall’s rooms, but the gate is closed and certainly locked. Even if you could unlock it, there’s probably a porter just within.”

  “I don’t like the look of that gate,” said Kate. “I’m not sure I could manage the lock, and opening that hulking thing would be noisy anyway. If there’s a porter in there, he couldn’t fail to hear it. Much too risky.” She paused, staring at the Wren Library. “What about that entry there?” She pointed at the center of the building. “If we get through there, can we find our way to New Court without crossing the porter’s path?”

  Asher thought back to the tour Marshall had given him. “Yes. At the eastern end of the cloisters there’s a passage that will take us to New Court.”

  “Let’s do that, then. The bridge looks clear, and I don’t see anything moving near the library. Follow me.”

  As they crossed the bridge, Asher noted how noiselessly Kate moved, how still and low she kept her body, and tried to mimic her movements. When they reached the central iron gate, Kate put her hands on the lock and laughed softly. “This one is a cinch. They’ve added a padlock, but that’s no problem at all. Will you hold this?” She opened the tool kit and placed it in his hands. Then she chose a narrow bar and a pick. Within seconds she’d popped the padlock apart and opened the gate.

  She waved him through and quietly closed the gate behind him, hanging the padlock back in place without actually locking it. “I’d lock it again,” she whispered, “but it’d be the devil to open from the inside. I’ve no idea where we’re going, so I suppose you’d better lead the way now.”

  He smiled at the reluctance in her voice. How she hated to follow.

  They stepped lightly along the stone floor of the cloisters. He’d crossed half the distance when he felt Kate’s hand on his arm. He turned to find her standing still, finger to her lips. After a moment she gestured frantically behind him.

  Now he heard the clattering footfalls … and the low murmur of voices.

/>   He glanced around—there was no alcove in which to hide. Perhaps that wall over there? He took Kate’s hand and moved quickly, pulling her to him as he flattened himself against the wall. His heart lurched into such a pounding that he wondered if Kate could feel it leaping in his chest.

  Two men came into view, their stiff white shirts bright against their dark evening clothes. One, a portly man with his loosened tie flapping, staggered every few steps.

  “You’ll see I’m correct,” he said, his words echoing in the cloisters, “and I’ll expect a bottle of the college’s finest port to be delivered to my room before tea tomorrow.”

  “If I’m correct, and I know I am, you’ll be delivering that bottle to me.” His friend did not slur so noticeably. “Chaucer only mentions Philomene by name in The Legend of Good Women. In fact, I’ll wager two bottles on it.”

  “No, no, no, I’m quite certain she’s named in Troilus and Criseyde, book two, when the nightingale sings as Criseyde falls asleep. I know it in my bones.”

  “In your cups, you mean. You’re dead drunk.”

  “Now that’s Cicero. In thy cups, in the midst of thy revels!”

  Both men guffawed at that. There was a noise of jangling keys and muttered oaths as one unlocked the library door. Soon thereafter the door slammed shut and the corridor fell silent again.

  “It’s safe enough now,” Kate whispered, slipping from his arms. “Do you think they noticed the open padlock?”

  “Too drunk, I’m sure.”

  “Are the Fellows always so jolly?”

  “They do like their wine,” he said. “Why? Do you fear I’ll become a drunkard if I survive this night and become a Trinity man?”

  She glanced at him. “You’re not that sort of fool.”

  “What sort of fool am I?”

  But she had paused again, this time to stare back at the upper level of the Wren Library. “Good Lord! They keep all the books up there? Look at those gorgeous windows. I thought the new Summerfield library was grand, but this place makes it seem quite ordinary.”

  “We’re almost there—it’s just up this staircase. Marshall’s room is the first door on the left, so get your tools ready.”

  Asher meant to keep an eye on the corridor as Kate studied the lock on Marshall’s oak door, but he couldn’t help admiring her concentration as she selected the proper tools and applied them to the lock. Soon enough he heard the satisfying click as the lock gave way.

  Kate stood and opened the door. “What’s this?”

  He reached for the simple handle of the green baize middle door and pulled it open to reveal the innermost door. “Only the outer door is locked.”

  “Three doors?” She shook her head in amazement. “It’s like a fairy tale.”

  “I’d never seen anything like it before.” Once inside he quietly closed all the doors behind them and lit a small study lamp. “Marshall’s research cabinet is over there.”

  Kate stood as if frozen, staring about the sitting room. “Who would have thought a Fellow was allowed so much space? How many rooms are in this apartment?”

  “He has two sitting rooms and two bedrooms. Apparently Fellows are expected to entertain.” He pointed at the oak file cabinet. “Shall we get started?”

  She glanced sidelong at him. “Marshall is in London, isn’t he? We have plenty of time.”

  “Not enough to waste,” Asher said. “If we are caught, my chances of a place at Trinity College are ruined forever, so I say the quicker we’re out of here the better.”

  She held his gaze for a moment. “Don’t worry, Asher.” After a moment she removed her hat and set it on top of the cabinet. “That thing is making my scalp itch. Shine the light over this, won’t you?”

  He could see nothing that resembled a lock, but after running her hands over the decorative trimming at each side Kate flipped the panels open to reveal two centrally located keyholes.

  “Just as I thought,” she said. “Almost as easy to open as a padlock. Gentlemen like Marshall should take more care to protect their secrets.”

  Chapter 34

  Elsie stood at the sitting room window, watching the gas lamps flicker over Summerfield Walk. Asher and Kate had left not quite an hour ago, but already she fidgeted. Each second that ticked on the clock unnerved her. She forced herself to sit, but less than a minute later she was up again, pacing back and forth in front of the window.

  What if they didn’t return? What was she supposed to do then?

  “Miss, can I get you anything?”

  Elsie turned to find Millie at the doorway, blinking sleepily.

  “I’m fine, Millie. You should go to bed.”

  “Begging your pardon, miss, but Mrs. Thompson told me not to retire until everyone was settled. You’re still up, and I heard Mr. Beale and Miss Poole leave earlier.” The girl stifled a yawn. “I don’t wish to catch trouble, miss.”

  “Everything is fine, Millie. You’re asleep on your feet, so please don’t stay up any longer.”

  Millie squirmed. “I can’t lose this position, miss.”

  “And you won’t. Mr. Beale and Miss Poole will return soon and we’ll all be safe in our beds before midnight. I will assure my aunt that you took wonderful care of us in her absence.”

  The maid bobbed a curtsy, a grateful look on her face. “Thanks, miss.”

  Once alone, Elsie turned back to the window with a sigh.

  Her thoughts threatened to turn to Simon, but she was doing her best to circumvent them. Only last night she’d resolved to no longer allow her life to revolve around a man’s affections. Now that she was alone and listless, her resolve was fading.

  That night at Stonehill—had Simon thought of her as he fell asleep? How long after he woke did he remember what had happened? What was his greatest regret—pushing her away, or letting her through the door in the first place? She knew he’d desired her. It wasn’t just a matter of using her to contact his lost love. Their connection was deeper than that.

  Soon he would be gone, and so far out of her reach. He would forget her.

  She nudged that thought aside, for she couldn’t bear to imagine the days and months that would follow in which she had … nothing. No one to love. Nowhere to go. Thoughts like that made her long for the dose.

  The clock chimed eleven. The next hour would stretch into eternity if she kept staring into the darkness outside. She settled into a chair and picked up the embroidery she’d pretended to work upon for the past two weeks.

  After staring at it for a moment, she tossed the hoop aside.

  Throughout the day a possibility had flickered through her mind—a way of passing the time in an active way, but only once Millie had retired for the evening. It was a shameful action she was contemplating, and Elsie cringed at the thought of betraying her family in this manner. And yet she needed to know.

  Having grown up in a house of secrets, Elsie well knew how to read the body language of deception. The thought had been niggling at her for days, and now she firmly believed that her uncle was keeping something from them. He’d behaved strangely that day at the old lab, insistent that they not go inside. And earlier he’d been suspiciously vague about the key. Perhaps he had hidden it somewhere in the house.… If so, she would do her best to find it tonight.

  She’d already looked through his bedroom dresser, but it merely contained clean clothes. Not surprising—her uncle was unlikely to hide anything secret there. So she started with his office, which was in its usual state of disarray. Hiking her skirts, she stepped around the piles of books and papers until she reached the desk. In this part of the house she shouldn’t be overheard by Millie, but she still took care to keep quiet.

  Her uncle’s desk held nothing extraordinary. Inside she found papers, papers, and more papers, as well as pencils, thumbtacks, dusty bits of rubber for erasing, and other things typical to a scholar’s desk. Nothing the least bit suspicious. So she turned to the specimen cabinet next to the window. It had a maddening number
of shallow drawers, but Elsie was determined to open each one.

  Her skin crawled at the thought of tiny mammal skeletons and hairy moths splayed on pincushions. To her surprise, however, her uncle kept more sentimental items in his specimen case. One drawer held a brooch and a watch fob made of human hair. She touched them lightly, marveling at the intricate weaving. Other drawers held pretty rocks, pressed flowers, and folded notes written in French and Latin. She recognized her aunt’s handwriting in the latter and was glad she couldn’t translate these private messages. She opened another drawer to find a delicate wren’s nest, perfectly shaped and holding a tiny papier-mâché egg.

  The more drawers she opened, the more she despised herself for invading her uncle’s privacy. What had she been thinking? Uncle had bristled and scolded at the old lab because he was worried about their safety, not because he was hiding something.

  She was close to putting an end to the horrid pillaging of the cabinet when she found the folded handkerchief containing a watch and a key.

  The watch was very fine, fashioned of gold and intricately carved. She opened it with trembling fingers. Within she found the inscription she’d been dreading—TO DEAR FRIEND AND PUPIL F. STANTON FROM O. THOMPSON.

  Kate had told her of this watch. Frederic Stanton had given it to her, the daughter he could not publicly recognize. Kate had given it to Billy, Billy had given it to his killer, and Uncle had somehow come into its possession after that.

  Snapping the watch shut in her left hand, she turned her attention to the key, a clunky thing of dull metal that lay unmarked and untagged. She lifted it out of the drawer. Surely this was the key to the old lab. Why else would her uncle hide it with the watch?

  Elsie stared numbly at the items, weighing them against each other as though her flattened palms were the pans of a balance scale.

  If Asher and Kate could risk breaking into a Cambridge college, she could at the very least return to the lab and try once more to speak with Tec. This time she would ask him about her uncle and Dr. Marshall. And she wouldn’t leave without getting a photograph of that beastly induction coil.