The Landlord's Black-Eyed Daughter (28 page)

“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve,” he continued. “I'll be back Christmas morning for your answer.”

When Rand returned, Elizabeth sobbed out a garbled account of Walter's threat.

Rand pressed her face against his shoulder. “Have a good cry now, my love, for tomorrow we make our escape.”

“Even Newgate celebrates Christmas Eve,” said Rand. “Both guards and prisoners alike. What do you say we spend Christmas Day across the channel in Calais?”

“Have you not forgotten something?” Elizabeth lifted his chains a few inches from the floor. “I do admire your optimism, my love, but there's the small matter of your irons. Huggins inconveniently forgot to leave us any keys. And since we're not ghosts, we cannot walk through walls.”

“Newgate's layout isn't unfamiliar to me. Katherine and Billy's generous gifts should help. I've wrestled with more than my share of irons, Bess. Zak and I grew impatient if we stayed inside a gaol longer than three hours. This time it's taken me a few weeks, but I think I've conceived the perfect plan.”

“The perfect plan,” she echoed, noting that his dark blue eyes gleamed.
He's teasing me, but why?

“After I free myself from these chains, we shall escape up the chimney.”

“Don't be silly. Not even smoke escapes up
that
chimney.”

“The Red Room is directly overhead. From there we'll have a clear path to the roof.”

“Odd's bones! You're
not
teasing!” She glanced doubtfully toward the fireplace. “Did I ever tell you that I have an aversion to tight places?”

“The window is too narrow and if we broke through the door we'd still be on the same floor, which wouldn't accomplish much at all. The chimney seems our best bet.”

“Not to me! I'd rather take my chances with the hangman.”

“The turnkey brings our dinner at two o'clock and removes our tray at three. After that, we'll have two hours of daylight left, which should give us a good start.”

Elizabeth didn't respond. Arguing with Rand was always an exercise in futility. But if he couldn't think of a better method to facilitate their escape, she would.

***

Dinner consisted of thin gruel and reasonably fresh bread. When the turnkey returned for the tray, he said, “If ye need water or sea-coal, tell me now. I'll soon be busy in the Lodge below.” He winked at Rand.

“Hoist one for me, mate.”

“That I will, sir. Merry Christmas.”

Snow hurled past the barred window. Elizabeth kneaded her icy fingers, then bunched the ends of her thin blanket around her neck. Rand had refused to pay for a fire, so their room was even colder than usual. If he truly meant to escape up the chimney, a cold hearth made sense, which was the only part of his scheme that did. While Rand was forever concocting foolhardy plans, this one approached lunacy. They'd never successfully break out. Worse, they might be killed in the process.

“Are you ready, Bess?”

“I don't think—”

“You can use Billy's file to open the damn padlock. Meanwhile, I'll remove my hand irons.”

“But 'tis a
horse
padlock!” She heaved a deep sigh. “Oh, all right. I'll go along with you, though this is your most preposterous idea yet.” Retrieving the watchmaker's file, she turned it over in her palm. “What the deuce am I supposed to do with this?”

“Pick the lock.”

Somewhat gingerly, she approached the horse padlock, an immense affair which secured the chains around Rand's ankles to the staple in the floor. Wishing Tim the Ostler was present, she dug around in the keyhole. Her numb fingers made her movements that much more clumsy. “In
Castles of Doom,
Guinevere was thrown into the dungeon by King John,” Elizabeth mumbled. “She escaped by picking half a dozen locks. It was so much simpler when she did it.”

Holding Katherine's nail between his teeth, Rand bent over his irons. Before long he'd freed his right hand.

“You're even more skilled than Guinevere,” Elizabeth said admiringly. Maybe Rand was right and they would escape. If the rest was as easy as the beginning, they'd soon be strolling down Newgate Street. “How did you do that?”

“Keep working. I'll explain some other time.”

While she attacked the padlock to no avail, Rand worked free his other cuff. Then he gently pried Billy's file from her hands. “Stand watch at the door, Bess. Make certain we're not interrupted.”

“Make certain
you're
not interrupted. I'm useless.” She peered out through the barred window cut into their door. The Master Debtors' side was directly opposite their room, and prisoners often left the area for the taproom below. Other than Rand's frequent curses and the occasional whisper of a rat running across the floor, everything was silent.

“Are you making any progress?” she asked.

“Not much.”

The day was waning fast. A guard appeared to light the lone torch positioned beside the Debtors' door, but he ignored their room. Elizabeth had no idea how long Rand had been at work. Maybe he'd never get free of the padlock, which meant, come tomorrow morning, they'd have a lot of explaining to do.

“Got it!” Rand struggled to his feet, the leg irons still attached.

Elizabeth hurried toward him. “Now what?”

“We must remove this chain linking my ankles together.”

She bent over the chain, but in the dim light she could see very little. Running her fingers across the links, she tried to discern some sort of imperfection or weakness. “Damn! Guinevere picked
locks.
She never had to worry about chains.”

“Some of the links are rusted. If you twist the chain back and forth, you should be able to break the weakest link.”

“Weakest link. There's a lesson to be learned in that, I suppose, but I can't think straight right now.”

Rand spread his legs until the chains tightened while she knelt and twisted the links.

“Harder, Bess!”

“I don't want to hurt your ankles.”

“Never mind that.”

She alternated between twisting the chain and using Katherine's hammer and chisel midst the links, but the chain seemed as impervious as ever. Wiping the perspiration from her face, she said, “This isn't going to work.”

“It has to. Just keep at it.”

When she was certain the chain would never break, one of the links snapped.

“Good!” Rand tied the links around each leg in order to keep the chains from dragging on the ground.

“Did I hurt your bad leg?”

He pulled her upright. “I've suffered worse. Now, the fireplace.”

“Is there not some other way? I truly don't want to attempt the chimney.”

Rand poked his head up the flue, then thrust his arm inside. “There's a thick square iron bar across the opening. The ends seem to be buried between the brickwork. Obviously, we're not the first prisoners to contemplate an escape up the chimney.”

Relieved, she said, “I guess we have no other choice. We'll have to try the door.”

Rand continued to probe the flue. “Too risky.”

“But you said there's a bar across the open—”

“We'll have to pull down the chimney, brick by brick, until we can remove the bar.”

“That's ridiculous!”

“Are we sparring or fighting?”

“Neither.” Grabbing up the nail, she scratched away at the mortar joints. Rand chiseled between the bricks. “I'm glad you know what you're doing. If it were left to me, I'd still be here by next Christmastide.”

“No, you wouldn't. Don't forget Stafford.”

Grimly, Elizabeth scratched harder.

Rand finally pried loose a brick. Tossing it to the floor, he said, “The rest should be easier. Bring me the horse padlock and I'll use it as a sledgehammer. You can keep watch again.”

Elizabeth took up her previous position at the door. With each slam of the padlock against the bricks, she winced, fully expecting a dozen warders with drawn pistols to rush upstairs. But nothing disturbed them save the off-key singing that emanated from the taproom and Lodge.

By the time Rand finished, bricks were strewn all around his feet. Dust from the mortar drifted downward like settling fog, and Elizabeth watched helplessly while he suffered a lengthy coughing fit. The bar had crumpled loose along with the bricks. After retrieving it, Rand said, “I'm going up the chimney now. I'll use the bar to batter my way through the floor above. Once I've broken through, follow me.”

“I can't. I'll panic. I know I will.”

“Please, sweetheart, we don't have time to deal with your doubts.” Bar in hand, Rand disappeared up the chimney.

Debris plummeted to the hearth and raised puffs of ashes. Coal dust mixed with the choking particles of mortar. Trying to figure out some other exit, Elizabeth looked around the room. “I can't do it,” she whispered. “No matter what the consequences.”

She heard Rand smashing his way through to what she assumed was the Red Room. Finally he called, “All right, Bess. Your turn.”

Desperate, she tried to gain control over her racing heart. Every minute she dawdled only increased their danger, and with his chains, bad leg, and larger body, Rand had suffered far more than she would. But
he
wasn't afraid of anything. The greater the risk, the steeper the odds, the more he enjoyed the challenge. And, unlike Stafford, Rand played fair.

If you were going to back out, you should have done so at the very beginning.
Climb the cursed chimney! Climb, damn it!

She took a deep breath and peered up the flue. While the darkness obliterated its dimensions, she could discern a lighter shadow far above, where Rand had battered the hole. She felt around the flue's perimeter. Impossibly narrow.

“Hurry, Bess!”

She tied her gown between her legs. The removal of the bricks had left a hole at least five feet high and two feet in diameter, so she would be totally enclosed for only a short distance. Positioning her arms on either side of the flue, she began edging her way up. Her mouth soon tasted of coal dust. Ashes fell upon her hair like polluted rain. She closed her eyes, but that was worse, so she opened them. Panic gripped her like a vise. The flue squeezed her arms and legs. Her body broke out in a cold sweat. Images of rats and spiders consumed her mind. Her limbs were dead weights, refusing to move.

“You can do it, Bess,” Rand called. “Think of something beautiful, something peaceful.”

“I can't,” she whispered. Then, louder, “What should I think about?”

“Us. Think about us free. Or think about the first lines from your novels. Can you remember them?”

“I can't remember
anything!
”

“Start with your first book. What did you say about William the Conqueror?”

As she searched her memory, she began to edge upwards again. How had her first novel begun? She had written something about William's illegitimacy. Yes. Something like, “People called him William the Bastard because he was one.” Not a beautifully crafted sentiment, but interesting. What had she written in her second book, the one about William's son, William Rufus? Rufus had made a wonderful villain. How had she begun
The King Who Hated Women
? Something about her heroine wandering in the forest, accosted by the king's henchmen.

By the time Elizabeth had advanced to
Richard of the Lion's Heart,
Rand pulled her through the shattered wood. Sprawled on the floor, she gasped for breath.

“Are you sure you've never done this before? You're rather good at it.” Helping her to her feet, Rand hugged her. “This is just the first step, love. We have a long way to go. How do you feel?”

“Winded. Triumphant. Exhausted.”

“Good. I didn't hear the word ‘defeated.'”

The Red Room measured twenty feet by ten. Judging from the thick dust on the floor, the stagnant air, and the cobwebs spun between the corners, it had not been entered for years. Standing on tiptoe, Elizabeth peered out through the barred window. The snow had stopped, but nightfall had arrived with a vengeance. “We won't be able to see anything, Rand. How the bloody hell are we going to figure out where we're going?”

“Darkness is our cloak, my pretty mouse.” Crossing to the Red Room's door, he retrieved the hammer and chisel from his pocket, then bent aside the plate covering the lock box. “Do you still have Billy's small file?”

With a curt nod, she removed it from her bodice and handed it to him.

In a surprisingly short time, he had picked the lock and forced back the bolt. The door opened, its rusty hinges protesting loudly. Rand stepped into the passageway. Turning, he took Elizabeth's hand and drew her forth, as if leading her toward the center of a dance floor.

“You're amazing!” Suddenly, she was exhilarated by the whole affair. They were escaping from the most notorious prison in London. When she and Rand were old and settled, she would write a book about it, her best ever.

He pulled her along behind him. They turned left, past a staircase, then came to another locked door. “I believe this is the door to the chapel,” Rand said, running his fingertips around the edges. “No lock, which means it's bolted on the far side. We can break through if we must, but I'm going to search out an easier exit.”

After Rand had retreated, the chill of Newgate's walls and the stillness of the passageway dampened Elizabeth's previous exhilaration. Newgate's darkness seemed a living thing, teeming with eyes.

Upon his return, Rand shrugged and said, “We'll have to go through the chapel. I'll batter a hole in the brickwork beside the door.”

“Won't that be awfully noisy?”

“Who is going to hear us? The chapel is three stories above the taproom and Lodge, where all of Newgate should be.” He retrieved the iron bar from the waistband of his breeches. “There's a door inside the chapel. It leads to a passage that opens onto the roof. Once we break through, the rest should be easy, even fun, just as I promised.”

He began ramming the wall. The noise was frightful. Surely they could be heard all the way to Westminster. Elizabeth watched him batter a hole large enough for his arm. Thrusting his hand through, he fumbled at the bolt.