The Underground

by Michelle E Lowe

  He stopped at a café, ordered a cup of tea, and sat outside to drink it. Not long into his blissful moment, he spotted the guards. It wasn’t a pair of them, or even just a few, but a throng of them on horseback. They halted down the road and dismounted before spreading out and entering buildings on both sides of the street.

  “Oh, not this again,” a customer moaned, sitting outside with her female companion. “Soldiers came to my home earlier today, looking for that thief.”

  “I was at the store when they arrived and started asking questions,” the woman with her said. “They’ve been searching through businesses and churches. I do hope they find this rogue soon.”

  The women stood from their seats.

  “Let’s leave before they get here. I do not wish to be questioned about it again.”

  Pierce was already leaving. He was headed for the playhouse when he passed by a hackney carriage parked on the other side of the road. He had barely enough money to have it carry him out of the city, which would be better than stealing a horse and risking the owner finding out too soon with so many troops looming about.

  He stepped off the sidewalk to head over when he recalled what the woman at the café had said about the thorough searches. If the soldiers were going into buildings, checking every nook and cranny, then there was no doubt in his mind they’d find the basement where his belongings were. His clothing, his rucksack, even a razor he had used recently was down there. All it would take would be the footmen identifying the clothes, and it would link Pierce to Frederica. She would be charged with harboring a fugitive, and just like that, her life would be over.

  * * *

  The auditorium filled with people as showtime drew near. Soon, the lights dimmed and the first act began. Oskar used his own set of keys and went into the basement to fetch the staff that hadn’t been brought up. He searched by the costume rack where it was supposed to be and eventually spotted it beside Frederica’s bed. Being so close to where she slept made his heart thump hard behind his ribcage. Ever since the day she came seeking a job, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. He’d never been in love before, but because he went out of his way to please her, lacked appetite and sleep, and frequently pleasured himself while envisioning her, it seemed that love had touched his soul.

  He was reaching for the staff when the light of his lantern shone over something on the floor. Men’s trousers. He picked them up and saw they were not part of a costume. He also found more men’s clothing draped over the footboard. His heart bottomed out. It became nauseatingly clear why she spent so much time in the basement. She had a man with her. Who could he be? Was it someone working at the playhouse? An actor, perhaps? Had she been selling her body to make ends meet? No, not his Frederica. Besides, he doubted men sleeping around with prostitutes left their clothing with their whores. Oskar cursed himself for not making his feelings known to her sooner. Perhaps if he had, it would be his clothes on her bed.

  He heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

  * * *

  When Pierce arrived at the theater—which, thankfully, appeared clear of soldiers—he entered through the unlocked back door and headed into the basement. He needed to erase all evidence of him being there and leave quickly. There would be no time to say goodbye to Freddie, but at least she’d be safe. When he arrived, he spied Oskar standing by the bed, holding his slacks.

  “Oi, what are you doing with my trousers, chum?” he snapped.

  Oskar looked confused. The lad obviously spoke no English, which gave Pierce a chance to repeat his question with more care.

  “What are you doing with those?” he reiterated in German.

  Oskar held them up. “Are they yours?”

  Pierce snatched them away. He had no time to make up a lie. He needed to gather his gear and clear out. As he grabbed his things, Oskar studied him.

  “What in the world does she see in you?” the lad asked.

  Pierce knew his big-nosed and bushy-eyebrowed disguise did not portray him in a favorable light, but that was the idea.

  “Wait a minute,” Oskar said, snatching the nose off his face.

  “Oi!” Pierce shouted, shoving him.

  The tosser crashed into the vanity table, breaking the mirror. Sometimes, Pierce forgot how strong he could be when provoked.

  “What’s happening?” Frederica asked.

  Pierce turned to her, his heated temper cooling instantly. She was dressed in her robe, her face pure white with stage makeup.

  “Erm, ’ello, Freddie.”

  “Oskar,” she said, rushing over to him. “Are you all right?”

  She helped him to his feet and then glared at Pierce. “You didn’t have to push him like that!”

  Oskar regained his footing and pointed at Pierce.

  “You’re him, ja? The highwayman they’re hunting for.” He turned to Frederica with a stunned expression. “Did you know that about him?”

  Her guilty eyes offered him the answer. The lad’s expression reflected disappointing heartbreak.

  “I did, Oskar,” she confessed. “And that is why I am down here.” She looked to Pierce with urgency. “The soldiers are looking for you.”

  “I know,” Pierce admitted. “I’m gathering my things so they won’t find out you’ve been hiding me.”

  Oskar seemed rather surprised by that and Frederica’s jaw dropped. She approached Pierce and stared him in the eye.

  “You could have fled, but you came back to protect me?”

  “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you on my account,” he confessed.

  Her eyes glistened with tears and she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tight. The sweet moment lasted only seconds, and then she pulled away with a sniff.

  “What I meant to say was that the soldiers are here, now, inside the theater. I saw a very pale man in uniform speaking to Mr. Hofer.”

  “Bugger,” he grumbled.

  “They’re searching the place for you. Soldiers are standing guard outside, waiting for any man to come out.”

  Pierce thought he might faint.

  “Listen,” Pierce said, clasping her by the arms, “go upstairs and finish getting ready for the play. I’ll cover my tracks and make a break for it.”

  “They’ll find you.”

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

  “No, there has to be another way,” she moaned tearfully. “If they catch you, they’ll kill you. I cannot bear that.”

  Pierce didn’t have the leisure to argue. With soldiers already in the building, it was only a matter of time before they came down into the basement.

  “I have an idea,” Oskar chimed in.

  They turned their attention on him, temporarily forgetting he was there.

  “What is it?” Frederica asked.

  The lad went over to the costume rack. “The soldiers are searching for a man, ja?”

  “You’re joking,” Pierce said when Oskar brought out a woman’s evening gown.

  Frederica caught on right away.

  “You must, Pierce. Please.”

  It wasn’t wearing the dress that bothered him. It was the time he needed in order to get gussied up as a woman, and then mentally preparing to portray himself as one. Even so, there weren’t many other options left.

  “Right,” he huffed.

  Pierce looked at Frederica, his chest tightening with grief. She grasped the hair behind his head and pulled him in for their final kiss—a long, passionate one that stole his breath away.

  When they parted, she laid her head against the side of his and whispered in his ear, “Auf Wiedersehen.”

  “Go upstairs, Frederica,” Oskar ordered. “I’ll help him escape.”

  She hurried out with Oskar following behind so he could relock the door. As he did so, Pierce undressed down to his undergarments and threw the heavy gown over his head. It was a trial, working his way up the dress and fighting through the underskirt. The black and green striped gown was made for a
medium-sized woman, and Pierce was pretty thin, but it still gave him barely enough room to wiggle into. Slipping his arms through the long sleeves was a very snug fit. He hoped he would not rip them. By the time he finally got into the damn thing, Oskar had returned.

  “Thread up my overbust,” Pierce told him.

  * * *

  Frederica’s shaky hands made it difficult for her to dress in her costume and repair the foundation on her face that her tears had damaged. There were so many terrifying thoughts running through her mind which twisted her stomach into knots.

  Frederica stood in front of the standing mirror in full costume and makeup and took a moment to admire herself. Suddenly, her worries washed away. She wasn’t Frederica Katz. She was Miranda, daughter of the Duchy of Milan, Prospero.

  Tonight, Frederica was Miranda, and she would make the crowd believe it.

  Heavy boots clomped past her dressing room.

  The soldiers were heading for the basement.

  * * *

  Pierce had never painted his face before, but he felt he’d done a fair job. Using the makeup in the vanity table drawer, he had whitened his skin with powder, darkened his eyes in black kohl, applied rouge, and whitened out his eyebrows to draw in thinner ones. Fortunately, he was blessed with fine facial hair that required minimal shaving. His boyish face helped with bringing out his feminine side, along with the makeup and curly brunette wig.

  “There aren’t any shoes for you to wear,” Oskar stated. “Not unless you have petite feet.”

  “I don’t,” Pierce clarified. “I’ll walk barefoot to keep from looking too tall. The gown is long enough to hide my feet.”

  “You’re not that tall,” Oskar quickly pointed out.

  “Just put my boots in the rucksack with my other clothes, all right?”

  When they were as ready as they could be, Oskar said, “We should leave.”

  “Oskar,” Pierce said, grabbing the fan from the vanity table. “Danke.”

  “I’m not doing this for you,” he stated earnestly. “I’m doing it to keep Frederica safe.”

  Pierce sensed Oskar’s affection for the woman in his tone.

  “Take care of her,” he told Oskar.

  They hurried upstairs just as somebody tried the latch. When people outside discovered the door was locked, they started demanding that someone open it.

  “You ready for this?” Pierce asked Oskar.

  The lad nodded. His fondness for Frederica must’ve been stronger than Pierce thought. It sure had boosted the bloke’s courage. Unless, of course, he planned on turning him over to the soldiers—in which case, Pierce was utterly buggered.

  Oskar suddenly burst out laughing. Pierce flicked his fan open and used it to cover his mouth as he, too, pretended to laugh. Oskar twisted the key in the lock.

  “Ja!” Oskar blurted, starting the act as they stepped out, walking abreast of each other. “And then he said, ‘Far be it from me to take advantage of your destitution. Keep your wife and little ones; I do not want them!’”

  Pierce and Oskar laughed as they came upon a band of German soldiers. Pierce strained to keep his laughter from turning into crying.

  “Oh,” Oskar said with a start. “I didn’t realize we were making such a ruckus.”

  He was fairly convincing. Being around actors must’ve rubbed off on him.

  “Oskar,” an older man dressed in a black suit said, “what are you doing down in the basement?”

  “I apologize, Uncle Norman. I was showing this lovely lady the theater.”

  Pierce tried not to make too much eye contact with the soldiers. He did notice a young, uniformed gent looking at him alluringly. Pierce must’ve looked prettier than he thought. Oskar pulled him against his chest and playfully nestled his face in the wig.

  “Wasn’t I, my pet?” Oskar said in his ear.

  Pierce didn’t expect this level of authenticity. He stayed in character as the shy girl and giggled behind the fan.

  “Step aside,” one of the soldiers ordered, snatching Oskar’s lantern from him.

  The troops passed by and descended into the basement. Ol’ Uncle Norman did not look amused.

  “This behavior is highly unlike you, young man,” he scorned. “Now, escort this woman out of my theater. I shall have words with you later.”

  “Yes, Uncle,” Oskar said contritely.

  As Uncle Norman stormed off, Pierce started for the rear exit.

  “No,” Oskar whispered, grabbing him by the arm. “It’ll be best if you leave through the front.”

  Pierce followed him to a door that led into a hidden passageway within the wall running alongside the auditorium. There weren’t any lights, only the sounds of the actors on stage. It wasn’t until the crowd began applauding that Pierce and Oskar reached another doorway.

  Oskar handed him the rucksack.

  “This will lead you out to the lobby.” He opened the door and urged Pierce to leave. “Viel glück.”

  Pierce quickly turned to see him closing a door that blended into the wall. The narrow passageway had led them behind the back rows of the auditorium. The people seated never even noticed him. Realizing he was going it alone from this point on, Pierce headed straight for the exit ahead. But then, the crowd’s applause stopped him short. Frederica stood center stage. She stayed quiet as if in thought. Pierce held his breath, fearing she had forgotten her lines. Then she recited her first line, and then the next. She spoke loud and clear and with passion.

  It was more than evident. Frederica was in her natural habitat. To have believed he and Frederica had actually stood a chance at a life together was a puerile fantasy. Their paths had split into two different directions. Perhaps, though, those paths would cross again someday on better terms.

  Pierce locked the memory of that moment of her on stage inside his head before departing. As he crossed through the main entry hall, he passed by more guards. Among them was a tall bugger wearing dark, tinted spectacles. He was pale like unpainted ceramic. He stood with arms folded, slowly scanning the lobby like a hawk searching for prey. None of the soldiers paid any mind to the boy in the dress as he exited the theater. Before Pierce knew it, he was out the bloody door. He caught a hackney carriage and asked the driver to take him out of Hamburg. At an inn on the outskirts of the city, Pierce was let off. He went behind the building to change into his own clothing before stealing a horse. Miles off, he set up camp and burned the gown.

  The following day, he rode out of Germany.

  * * *

  A few months after his escape, Pierce was in Paris, having tea at a café. He decided to write her a letter.

  My dearest Frederica,

  I write to let you know I’m alive and well. I saw you on stage on the night I left. I cannot begin to describe how majestic you looked, darling. You were truly in your element. I’m not sure if this letter will ever reach you, but if it does, I want you to know the time we shared together was an adventure I’d gladly repeat with you. I will always treasure your charm and humor, as well as the way you ignited my soul when you made love to me. The beauty of your body is an image I’ll not soon forget. I wish we could have run away and started a life together. You as the famous actress, and me as the English professor. What a couple we could have been. You’ll always be in my heart.

  Forever yours,

  P.L.

  For his failure in finding the outlaw, General Volker Jäger was discharged from service. He left Hamburg, aiming to redeem his reputation by hunting down the highwayman on his own.

  Frederica Katz became a well-known actress for her flawless performances. Shortly afterwards, she and Oskar married.

  Chapter Ten

  Birmingham

  After days of traveling, Freya Bates and her daughter, Vela, reached St. Mary’s Island, the largest island off the Isles of Scilly. When the boat docked, Mother of Craft paid a hackney carriage to take them to a small cottage on the outskirts of Old Town.

  “Why do we have to be here
, Mother?” Vela whined. “I don’t care for the man.”

  “It isn’t as though you’re marrying him.”

  The girl shuddered.

  “I’d never marry him.”

  Mother of Craft loved her daughter’s strong spirit. She was truly a remarkable young thing, worthy of what was to come.

  “In any case,” Mother of Craft continued, “keep your opinions about him to yourself. He is very important.” She gazed at Vela, who stared intently out the carriage window. “You’re still willing to go through with it, yes?”

  Sometimes Freya worried about what would happen if the child changed her mind or refused to be part of the plan. Could she—her mother—force her by casting a spell to make her compliant? After all, the child had been bred for a specific purpose. Even so, it would be best if Vela went along with it willingly. It simply made things easier.

  To her relief, Vela answered, “Of course, I am, Mother.”

  When they arrived at the cottage, Mother of Craft gave the coachman money to wait for them.

  As they approached the cottage, Vela asked, “Why do you and Mr. Wakefield live by the shore?”

  “It’s the water,” Mother of Craft explained just before knocking. “It is one of nature’s most powerful elements. Staying close to so much helps strengthen our abilities.”

  The door opened and a middle-aged man, clothed in a dark pinstriped suit, stood in the doorway.

  “Hello, Mother of Craft. Good evening, Miss Bates.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Wakefield,” Vela replied formally.

  He moved aside and allowed them to enter his modest home. “Do come in.”

  Ron Wakefield owned little. Some old furniture, a few daguerreotypes on the wall, knickknacks on a bookshelf, and a scruffy, one-eyed mutt, named Sunflower. His boring dwellings reflected his personality. His dull, monotone voice could put people to sleep. Even so, the man was a true enchanter. He wasn’t as powerful as Freya, but he knew his craft and performed it well.