Page 71 of Guardian
I opened my eyes and scanned the open area in front of the inn, seeing as if for the first time the hundreds of rooms and attics and basements within half an hour’s walk of the Elephant and Castle. Finding her would be impossible.
What could I do but go along with Maggie’s dodge?
What frightened me wasn’t simply being caught with the gems. If the dodge went as planned, I’d be embroiled in the murder of a policeman. I’d hang for certain if I was caught. And Sarah would never forgive herself for being taken.
As panic rolled over me, my head began to buzz. I bent over, settling my hands on my knees.
I couldn’t give into it. I must be on my mettle.
There was always a way out.
When I was eleven, my mum locked me in a cupboard. She had her reasons.
For nearly a year, I’d been sent out to sew for Mrs. Beck, bringing home three shillings a week, which I deposited in a tin cup on the shelf. Ma had said it was needed for rent, and I felt a child’s pride in helping to provide for us—until I returned home one night to find the tin cup empty, with every shilling spent on gin that turned Ma into a witch with hard brown eyes and a bitter tongue. I wasn’t soft the way Sarah was. I had a temper, and I sassed her, which made her furious, and she pinched my shoulder and shoved me into the cupboard, turning the key in the lock. I beat my fists against the door and screamed. Then she snatched up Sarah—sobbing and crying for me—and left, slamming the door behind her.
In some respects, it was the kindest thing Ma could have done, for the moment I was alone, I halted the fruitless banging of my fists, sat down, and began to think.
I reached into my pocket and found my sewing kit. The scissors were too big and the needles, even three together, were too small to turn the key she’d left in the lock.
I searched the clothes pockets, the tattered boxes, the shelf. Nothing of use.
The air was so thick with the smell of wool and rot and mouse droppings that I began to gasp.
I pressed my nose along the floor, near the crack at the bottom of the door, drawing deep breaths. The knowledge that I wouldn’t smother to death slowed my heart and let me think again. As I swept my fingers along the sides and the back of the cupboard, something pointed pricked my thumb. I put it in my mouth and tasted blood. This time, I crept my fingers slowly forward until they encountered a metal shard. A bit farther along, they found a few inches of thick wire. Using the two pieces together, I manipulated the key. I groaned in frustration at my failures. I bent the wire into different shapes, squinting in the bit of light that wasn’t anywhere near bright enough to see by.
To this day, I don’t know what caused me to close my eyes. But the moment I did, my fingers moved more surely. My mother may have foisted darkness upon me, but this was a darkness I chose. I pleated the wire twice more. Patiently, I inserted it with the piece of metal, feeling the resistance of the key.
There was a catch, like a needle caught on a fiber, a scrape, and the key twitched. The second time, it twitched again. The third time, it turned, and I escaped, hours earlier than Ma would have returned.
I learned important lessons that day. To breathe. To slow myself rather than hurry. To manage the conditions of my trap. To take stock of my resources. To fashion a tool.
Where was the shard of metal and the piece of wire I needed now?
I drew a deep breath.
I knew where to find one of them.
I arrived at my room to find it empty. With all that had happened, it felt as though it should be midnight at least, but it was just striking nine. Still, Mary’s absence put a lump of fear into my throat, especially when I noted her coat tossed on the bed. It was nighttime and cold outside—why would Mary have gone out without her coat? Had Maggie abducted Mary as well?
But why? She knew Sarah would be enough to compel me.
Had Mary fled? Believed she was in danger?
I yanked open the drawer where Mary kept her things and saw her undergarments, neatly folded, and the framed picture of her mother that she never would have left without.
Behind me, the key turned in the lock.
Mary stared in surprise at me, the open drawer, my hand inside it. “Kit? What are you doing?”
She wore a coat I’d never seen.
Relief made my voice hoarse. “Oh, thank God. Where did you get that coat?”
Bewildered, she replied, “I borrowed it from Bea. Why?”
I shut the drawer with a whine of wood against wood, peered out into the hallway and closed the door. Then I rolled a towel and stuffed it along the crack at the bottom.
“I need to talk to you,” I muttered and began without even letting Mary unbutton her borrowed coat.
