A Dangerous Legacy

by Elizabeth Camden

“Are you sure?” It didn’t seem smart. There were so many more people there to intercept them.

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  There was no choice but to trust him. She ran close behind him as they reached the main street again. Rather than stick to the sidewalk, Nick dashed straight into the middle of the street, veering around carriages and jumping over potholes. His long legs devoured the ground while she scrambled after him, hoisting her skirts high as she ran.

  “Slow down!” she shouted, for getting separated terrified her. Nick was so far ahead he might not even know if Wolfe caught her.

  “Can’t!” Nick shouted without breaking his stride. They ran another five blocks before he squatted down in the middle of the street and she understood his plan. He worked his fingers beneath the grill of a manhole cover, tugging at it with all his might. By the time she reached him, he had it off and shoved aside.

  “You first,” Nick panted.

  She stared down the hole. Beyond the first few feet, the sewer was completely black except for light glinting on some water far below.

  “Go on,” Nick urged. “It’s only fifteen feet down, and it won’t be too bad. We haven’t got any choice, Luce.”

  He was right. From behind her she heard the shouting of the two henchmen. “Stop them!” Sneed shouted. “Thieves! Stop them!”

  It was all she needed to hear. Draping her skirts over an arm, she turned and descended the ladder, sinking lower into the brick-lined tunnel. How much farther did this go down? Nick had said it was only fifteen feet, but it seemed forever. It got even darker when Nick’s body blocked the opening as he followed her down.

  She reached the bottom with a splash. It felt like only an inch or so, but she cringed at the thought of what she’d just stepped into. Within moments the damp seeped through the leather of her shoes, but there was nowhere else to stand.

  Nick grunted as he dragged the manhole cover back into place, the clang echoing loudly in the tunnel. The metal rungs thrummed as Nick lowered himself, but she couldn’t see a thing in the darkness. A splash sounded as he joined her at the bottom of the ladder.

  “What now?” She was pressed against him shoulder to hip, squashed together in the small, damp chamber. He elbowed her in the ribs as he fumbled around, and a moment later a beam of light flared between them. Nick had his flashlight! He always took a dry-cell battery torch when working underground, and thank heavens he still had it from his work that day. They were in a brick-lined vertical shaft, a metal ladder anchored to the wall. Anyone looking through the grill of the manhole cover would see them trapped down here like sardines in a tin.

  Nick leaned over to shine his flashlight down a horizontal tunnel leading both east and west. The arched opening wasn’t even four feet high.

  “This tunnel will join up with the main line within a few blocks,” he said. “If they follow us down, there’s a fifty-percent chance they’ll go down the wrong tunnel. Let’s move. Fast.”

  “Are you serious?”

  He grinned. “Look on the bright side . . . at least it rained this morning.”

  He was right. The stormy weather meant that fresh rainwater had flushed the sluggish waste that sometimes built up in the sewer system. The dank, musty air was bad but not unbearable.

  Nick squatted onto his haunches, ducked his head, and disappeared into the tunnel, taking the light with him. She gathered her skirts up to her hips, for it was going to be a wet slog. She hunkered down and waded into the tunnel.

  She braced one hand on a grainy brick wall for balance, while the other arm kept her skirts out of the way. It didn’t take long for her legs to start trembling from the strain of their unnatural position as she waddled along the passageway.

  “How far do we need to go?” she asked.

  “Just keep moving. I doubt they’ll follow us down, but if they do, I want us to escape into a sewer main.”

  Lucy wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but Nick knew his way around this underground city as well as anyone in the world. There were literally hundreds of miles of sewers, water tunnels, and work passageways snaking beneath the city, and it would be easy to get lost down here.

  The tunnel sloped downward, and the water was getting deeper. The air carried a sulfuric scent, but it wasn’t as awful as she feared it would be. More disconcerting was simply the knowledge that she was deep beneath the city street, with millions of pounds of earth, rock, and buildings above her head as she traveled through this underground labyrinth.

  Every few yards an open pipe in the wall dribbled liquid into the sewer, leaving dark, algae-covered stains on the brick. The muscles in her neck and shoulders screamed, and she didn’t know how much farther she could duck-walk through these cramped tunnels.

  Nick slowed and turned to her, panting as he rested against the sewer wall. “Let’s stop here,” he said. “I’m guessing we’re about halfway to the sewer main, but maybe they won’t follow us.”

  She nodded, breathing too hard to respond. She pressed her back against the sewer wall, almost as if she were sitting in a chair, using the free moment to rub the abused muscles in her neck. The enclosed brick tunnel acted as an echo chamber, magnifying the sound of their ragged breaths. A few inches away, a pipe in the wall dribbled a steady rivulet of water. She wrinkled her nose and held her breath.

  “Is that water coming from toilets?” she asked.

  “Mostly not.”

  “Mostly?” She tried not to sound too appalled. “But some of it could be?”

  “Just think of it as mostly rainwater, okay?” When she looked at him skeptically, he stifled a laugh. “Look, we’re already up to our ankles in it, Luce. Might as well make the best of things. Just keep thinking of it as mostly rainwater.”

  He was right. She’d rather be in this underground maze than on her way to Ridgemoor.

  The thin trickle of water at the bottom of the tunnel had grown to a more substantial stream. Each pipe fed more water into the system, and it would surely grow even deeper as they traveled down toward the sewer main.

  A moment later, Lucy heard the heavy clang she’d feared coming from the far end of the tunnel. Wolfe and Sneed were still after them.

  “Come on back, Miss Drake,” one of them yelled, his voice echoing off the damp bricks. “If you make us go in after you, there’s no telling what Dr. Schroeder will do once we catch you. Make it easy on yourself and come back.”

  She and Nick immediately set off farther down the tunnel, sloshing through the deepening water with renewed urgency. Every muscle in her body hurt, but at least they were both smaller and more nimble than the men following them.

  A few minutes later, Nick said the words she’d been waiting for. “We’re here.”

  They had arrived where the lateral tunnel opened into the sewer main. It actually hurt as she stood upright, her cramped neck muscles twinging in relief as she stepped inside. What a strange space they had just wandered into. It was at least ten feet tall and almost as wide, but it narrowed at both the top and the bottom, giving it an egg-shaped look. A few feet of water flowed in the bottom of the tunnel. Instead of brick, the walls were lined with concrete, and it wasn’t pitch black in here. Yellow carbon arc lamps were attached to the walls, casting dim illumination down the cavernous space. Nick clicked off his flashlight.

  “Who the heck are you?” a rough voice barked.

  Lucy nearly jumped out of her skin, reaching for Nick in a panic. She followed the sound of the voice and saw two men slumped against the side of the wall. Vagabonds.

  The two men lay sprawled atop some up-ended old crates nudged against the wall, but one rose to his feet, brandishing a knife. The other remained sprawled on his crate, peering at them through owlish eyes in his unshaven face.

  “We’re just passing through,” Nick said. He surely had more experience with the desperate people who made their homes in this weird underworld.

  “Then keep on passing,” the vagabond with the knife growled. “This stretc
h is our territory, all the way up to the 59th Street sewer line.”

  Nick held up his hands in a placating gesture. “We don’t mean to encroach. All I want to know is when the tidal gate was last opened.”

  “Why should I answer?”

  Nick reached into his pocket and gave the man a dollar. That was all it took.

  “Almost a day,” the owlish man said.

  “Then you and your friend might want to get moving,” Nick said. “I have a feeling it’s going to be opened in the very near future. It won’t be pretty.”

  Lucy had a vague understanding of what they were talking about. The sewer system in New York depended on high tides from the rivers to wash the tunnels clean. Various screening chambers throughout the system filtered solid waste, where it was sent to pumping and lift stations for disposal. Then huge sluice gates opened, releasing the tidal water and flushing the system clean, carrying the water all the way out into the bay.

  The vagabond put his knife away and scooped up his crate. The owlish one gathered a few bags of belongings, surely accustomed to avoiding the rush of discharge water. They headed for shelter in the side tunnel she and Nick had just traversed.

  “There are some unsavory folks heading down that tunnel,” Nick said, reaching into his pocket for a few more coins. “They’re after us. I’d appreciate it if you sent them downstream instead of up.”

  The vagabond reached for the coins. “You got it. Just keep moving and don’t come back. This is our territory.” The pair disappeared into the intersecting tunnel.

  “You’re welcome to it,” Nick muttered, already setting off upstream. “Let’s hurry. It’s not easy to open those tidal gates, and we need to put as much distance as possible between us and your friends.”

  There was no avoiding it. She hiked up her skirts and headed into the main sewer chamber, where the water reached above her knees, and began slogging forward. By heaven, it stank in there. The damp soaked into her clothes and her skin. This tunnel sloped uphill, and they were running against the stream, making the footing even more treacherous. Sounds of thrashing from the side tunnel behind them terrified her. Was it the two vagabonds or the henchmen from the insane asylum?

  She couldn’t worry about it, for it was hard enough maintaining her balance in the slick concrete tunnel as she waded forward. Flecks of water spattered onto her chest and face, but she couldn’t slow down. Heaven only knew how long it would take Nick to figure out how to open the gate.

  She was grateful for the light, but it made them painfully visible to their pursuers. She risked a quick backward glance. The henchmen hadn’t reached the main tunnel yet, but she lost her balance and fell to her knees, spared from falling face first into the water only by dropping her skirts and bracing her hands on the slimy floor. It was so cold! Her teeth were chattering by the time she got upright and on her way again. Traveling was even harder with sodden skirts. Nick was quite a distance ahead of her, but at least she was in no danger of getting lost, for the sewer only went in one direction.

  The water tapered off the higher they traveled. How far had they gone? A mile? Two? At least the water had become shallower, barely reaching her ankles.

  She sighed in relief when she saw the mighty tidal gate ahead of her. Made of cast iron and timber beams, it blocked the entire sewer main. Nick scrambled up the concrete platform that framed either side of the gate and hunkered down to examine the hinges holding it closed. She staggered up the short flight of steps to stand beside him.

  “Can I help?” she gasped with the last of her breath. Nick passed her the flashlight.

  “Shine it on the hinges,” he said in a low voice. His tone worried her. He didn’t know what he was doing, and he didn’t have any tools.

  The gate looked like a portcullis that could be raised and lowered in place. The heavy metal door surely weighed hundreds of pounds, but coiled torsion springs would help lift it on the metal rails framing each side of the gate. If he could open it, they’d be protected here on the ledge as the flood released.

  Nick unscrewed the caps protecting the levers from water, but tugged in vain on the iron lever. It wouldn’t budge. This door held back thousands of pounds of water, and it was designed to withstand pressure.

  Their pursuers came into view, slogging through the knee-deep water far down the tunnel, but they’d be here soon. Even now she could hear their grunts and splashing as they got closer. She bit back the temptation to urge Nick to hurry, for he was doing all he could, groaning with effort as he pulled on the lever. The cords in his neck bulged, and his face twisted into a grimace. This job usually required a crowbar to lift the lever, and Nick had only his bare hands.

  Mr. Sneed was coming closer, his massive body lunging from side to side as he trudged up the tunnel. Wolfe was only a few yards behind.

  “I need your skirt, Luce,” Nick said. She squatted down, and he grabbed a hunk of wet fabric to wrap around the lever. Please, she prayed.

  The men were less than fifty yards away, then forty. Nick bellowed, pulling on the lever with all his weight. The squeak from the lever was puny, but it sent her heart soaring. It must have renewed Nick’s spirits too, for he roared louder as he tugged, the lever slowly moving forward. The torsion springs engaged, and the gate began lifting. Pressurized water spurted from the bottom few inches with a mighty hiss, foaming white in the dim chamber. As the springs fully engaged, the gate hauled upward to its fully open position.

  A deafening wall of water thundered down the tunnel. She caught a quick glimpse of the henchmen, their faces frozen in horror as the wall of water barreled toward them. She and Nick clung to each other on the raised platform, the spray of water soaking them as it gushed with the force of a waterfall. Through the mist, she spotted Sneed and Wolfe. They turned to flee but couldn’t outrun the water that scooped them up, sending them bobbing down the tunnel like two corks in a whirlpool.

  It took over a minute for the pressurized water to slow and finally ease to a trickle.

  “What will happen to them?” she asked.

  Nick snorted. “They’ve got a bumpy ride all the way to the river. If they manage to keep their head above water, that is.”

  She didn’t pity them. They had been merciless in trying to slam her into an insane asylum, and only by Nick’s efforts and the grace of God had she been spared. Exhaustion set in, and she sagged against the cold metal of the tidal gate frame, barely able to keep standing.

  “What will happen to us?” she asked, for even though the immediate danger had passed, they were still deep underground in a maze of convoluted tunnels.

  Nick’s face was pensive as he scanned the dimly lit space. “We’re near the East Side hog house, but the stairwell is locked until dawn. We’d better make ourselves comfortable until the morning crew gets here.”

  Her clothes were wet, cold, and filthy. She barely had the energy to lift her hand to wipe a drop of water from the end of her nose.

  “Mostly rainwater, huh?”

  Nick’s teeth gleamed white in the dim light. “Mostly rainwater,” he affirmed.

  She nodded. It could be a lot worse.

  Chapter

  Twenty-one

  Colin tried to focus on a revised contract with a newspaper in Richmond, but his mind kept straying to Lucy Drake. Their stolen afternoon yesterday in Central Park had been the most magical and bittersweet few hours of his life. Had she felt the same? The way she clung to him on the edge of Columbus Circle seemed as if she was trying to memorize the perfection of the moment, just as he was.

  Or perhaps he was reading too much into it. Perhaps she had gone to work this morning as usual and never thought twice about him.

  The clang of the telephone interrupted his thoughts. It was a rude interruption, but just as well. He pressed the polished wood receiver to his ear. “Beckwith here.”

  An audible sigh of relief sounded through the telephone. “Thank heavens I’ve found you!”

  “Who is this?”


  “Henrietta Schroeder,” the voice said. “You must hurry. Something very bad is in the works. Thomas Drake was over here last night, convincing my husband to do something terrible to that young lady who came to Oakmonte.”

  “Lucy?”

  “Was that her name? Whoever she is, I’m afraid she is in danger. After speaking with Thomas, my husband summoned that awful Mr. Sneed, which only happens when a patient needs restraining at Ridgemoor.”

  She spoke so quickly it was hard to keep up with her, and the noise from his open window made it difficult to hear. He covered one ear and leaned in closer to the mouthpiece.

  “Say it again and speak slowly,” he ordered, panic beginning to set in.

  “They are taking that young woman to Ridgemoor. I don’t know why, but the Drakes intend to lock her away and ruin her reputation by having her declared insane. And I’m afraid my husband is quite capable of making that happen. You must hurry.”

  Fear gripped him as the plan became clear to him. The fastest way to discredit Lucy’s allegations over the assassination plot would be to have her declared insane. After all, there was no proof other than the overheard messages she reported, and if the Saratoga Drakes could prove Lucy insane, it would be killing two birds with one stone. Suspicion of the assassination plot would vanish, and their lifelong enemy would be slammed into a lunatic asylum with little hope of escape.

  Mrs. Schroeder’s voice lost a bit of its panic as she relayed careful instructions. “The fastest way to Ridgemoor is to rent a hack at the Groverman Stables. Take it to the train station and ride the Ninth Avenue elevated train straight to Ridgemoor.”

  She seemed awfully eager to help . . . too eager. Was this all part of a plot to somehow entrap him into dashing off to Ridgemoor? With the most recent newspaper article casting aspersions on his own sanity, they’d have all the more reason to detain him. Was Lucy the prey, or was he?

  It didn’t matter. He couldn’t go back to paperwork when Lucy might be battling for her freedom. He vaulted from his seat and headed downstairs. For all he knew, Lucy might be happily ensconced at her station, dutifully translating messages like any other day.