A Temptation of Angels (25 page)

The door banged shut behind her. For a moment, the serving girl stood, holding the pot and staring toward their position in the woods until Helen was certain they had been spotted. But no alarm sounded. No cry about an intruder. The young maid simply descended the steps and started across the lawn toward them.

“She’s coming this way!” Helen whispered.

Both men looked toward the grass, watching the girl approach, the pot of water still steaming in her hands.

“I’ll meet up with you inside,” Darius said wearily. “Just find Alsorta and try not to do anything until I get there.”

They didn’t have time to protest. Darius stepped onto the lawn in full view of the girl, ambling toward her as if he were simply out for an evening stroll.

“It looks like you could use some help.” His voice was like syrup, rich and sweet. Helen could hear the roguish smirk that was almost certainly on his face as he approached the maid.

“What, me?” She looked around as if there were someone else to whom Darius could be speaking.

“Yes. You,” Darius said slowly. “You’re far too pretty to spend your night in such drudgery. Allow me.” He reached for the pot.

She shrunk back, startled. “Oh, no! I couldn’t.”

“You most certainly could.” Darius’s voice was firm but sensual.

The girl shook her head, leaning in to whisper at Darius. Helen could barely make out her words. “I’m
on trial
, you see. From the agency. I won’t be able to stay if I get into trouble.”

“There’s no trouble to be had.” Darius reached for the pot, pulling it from her with authority. Some of the water sloshed over the side. “You may be new, but I’m not. I’ve been working for the old man for ages. And trust me, they
don’t care who does it or how it gets done, so long as it does.”

The girl looked nervously around. “Well… all right, then. But I’ll have to get back soon or they’ll wonder where I’ve gone.”

Darius nodded with authority. “They don’t like dumping to be done close to the house. I’ll show you the best spot for this and have you back in no time. Besides, it will give us a chance to get to know each other…” He fished for her name.

“Maude,” she said shyly.

“Maude.” Darius lead her toward the trees at the back of the house. “A striking name for a striking girl.”

Helen could not withhold her sigh when the girl giggled.

Griffin leaned in, speaking quietly. “Alsorta’s chambers are on the second floor. We have to find a way in before the girl comes back.”

Helen looked carefully through the trees, weighing their options. They shuffled through her mind like a deck of cards until she remembered her mother, leading her through one of London’s worst neighborhoods on a grim February day. They didn’t have an errand or any other purpose for being there. It was an adventure, her mother had said before they’d left the house in clothing borrowed from the servants.

“But why, Mother? Why will we go to the slums?” Helen asked as her mother buttoned up the too-small coat.

“Because, darling.” Her mother had gazed at Helen, her eyes flashing a deep and moody gray. “It’s a game. Like the games you play with your father. It will be grand, you’ll see.”

Helen had been afraid. The people were smelly and boisterous, shoving her every which was as she held tightly to her mother’s hand. She didn’t like this game as much as the ones she played with Father.

Her mother stopped on a street corner, bending down to speak softly to her. “You must act like them, my love. If you’re afraid, if they see your fear, they’ll know you don’t belong. It is only then that they’ll notice you at all.”

Helen had gazed at the roughly dressed passersby. The children with dirty faces and runny noses, many of them chasing after strangers and asking for money.

“But how, Mother? How do I act like them?”

“Do what they do, Helen. Behave as they behave.” Her mother had smiled secretively. “Let us pretend. It will be as a play or fairy tale. I will be the downtrodden widower, seeking work to care for my beloved daughter, who sometimes must beg in the streets for charity. None of London’s richest citizens can resist the child, for she is an angel-faced beauty
with sad violet eyes.” Her mother tipped her head, and Helen saw, just for a second, sadness lurking in her gaze. It was gone a moment later when her mother continued. “It’s a romantic, tragic tale, really.”

Later, Helen knew her mother had added this last so that she wouldn’t be afraid. It had worked. Helen had always loved fairy tales, and she had perfected a doe-eyed stare that, together with a plea for change, melted the most hard-hearted stranger. By the time they left the slums, Helen had gathered a heavy handful of coins.

“Well done, Helen,” her mother had said as they made their way home. “Blending is the key to belonging. It’s just that simple.”

And with that, her mother had deposited all the money Helen had earned into a tin nailed to the wall of an old church.

“Well?” Griffin’s voice brought her back to the present. “Any ideas?”

Helen’s nod was slow. “We’ll go in there. Through the kitchen.”

“The kitchen?” Griffin shook his head. “But there are people working in there.”

“Yes,” Helen conceded. “But no one guards a kitchen. Just act like you belong and it will be fine.”

She had already stepped through the trees and was making her way to the side door by the time he spoke the first words of protest.

He caught up to her. “Are you mad? We’ll be caught.”

“No,” she said, “we won’t. This is a big place, Griffin. I could be any one of the maids hired to serve Alsorta and you could be any one of the guards.”

She marched up the steps as if she had done so a hundred times before. Griffin was right behind her when she opened the door.

T
he air was pungent and steamy. Dishes clattered as people shouted back and forth above the fray. Scanning the area by the door, Helen found what she was looking for in a row of pegs. She grabbed an apron from one of them and a hat from another, putting them both on in under ten seconds as she made her way deeper into the kitchen.

The blood rushed through her veins as she passed two old women doing dishes and stepped over a younger one scrubbing the floor. Helen avoided eye contact with all of them, raising her voice to a bossy shout as she hurried through the room.

“I don’t care what Henry told you.” She directed the words toward Griffin without actually looking at his face. “Master Alsorta needs the carriage shining like a fresh coin first thing
in the morning. And maybe if you didn’t spend so much of your time playing cards at the front gate you would have remembered his instructions.”

“I… uh… I’m sorry, miss?” Griffin said. “I’ll… I’ll see that someone does it right away.”

Helen continued her march through the cavernous kitchen, heading for a door at the end of the room. “You most certainly will. We’ll get you a bucket and some fresh rags and you’ll be on your way.”

She was at the door, a sigh of relief already building in her lungs, when a curt voice stopped her.

“And who, pray tell, are you?”

Griffin stiffened beside her, one hand on his sickle, as Helen turned to find an older women glaring at her with shrewd eyes. She was the same one who had given Maude a dressing-down outside the kitchen.

Helen composed her face into what she hoped was a mask of serenity. “I’m Helen, of course.”

“Helen?” The old woman’s forehead crinkled with disdain. “And who would that be?”

“The agency sent me?” Helen looked her directly in the eyes, steadying her voice. “Earlier this evening?”

“The agency?”

Helen nodded. “Master Alsorta is quite upset about the carriage. I’ve been instructed to give the men washing supplies immediately.”

The woman stared at her with a puzzled expression as the silence stretched between them. Helen was already marking the exits to the room when the older woman nodded.

“See it done, then. It won’t do to keep the Master waiting.”

Helen nodded, turning and slipping from the door with Griffin on her heels. They kept walking even after the door shut behind them. Helen held her head high until she found a shadowed alcove. Then, she stepped into it, leaned against the wall, and nearly fainted with relief.

“I cannot believe you just did that.” Griffin lay his head back against the wall next to her, his voice was disbelieving. “That was…” He started to chuckle. “That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”

“That wasn’t amazing. Getting out of here with Alsorta will be amazing.” She smiled, whispering. “But thank you.”

Safe from the wrath of the kitchen crone, Helen peered out of the alcove, trying to get her bearings. A long hallway extended toward the entry in the distance, and though she
could not be sure of much else, she knew they were not in servants’ quarters. The rugs and furniture were far too fine.

A clatter across the hall made them jump, and they leaned back into the shadows.

“Tsk!” It was the voice of the crone, and Helen wondered that it could strike fear in even her own heart when the woman had no control over her whatsoever. “Where on Earth have you been? Do you think the Master wants to shave with cold water? You’re going to hear it now! And with good reason!”

“I’m sorry,” a small, familiar voice said. “I’ll get it upstairs right away, ma’am.”

Maude scuttled out of the kitchen with a basin of water, letting the door swing shut behind her as she headed in the opposite direction of the front door.

“Back stairs?” Helen whispered to Griffin.

He nodded.

They waited until Maude’s hurried footsteps faded before daring to follow. The hallway was empty, and they made their way with haste to the back of the house. Helen called to mind the drawing they had used to plot strategy. She saw the long, central hallway in which they now stood, the various rooms
set to the left and right. At the back was a large mudroom. If Helen remembered correctly—and she almost always did—the servants’ stairs would be there.

“This way,” she said, turning left at the end of the hall.

Griffin followed, either because he truly trusted Helen’s instincts or because he didn’t have a better idea. Helen couldn’t be sure. But it didn’t matter. The mudroom was at the end of the back hall, and just as Helen remembered, a dark, narrow staircase was set into the wall.

Griffin gazed upward into the darkness. “Ready?”

She nodded.

“Stay close,” he said.

“What about Darius?”

“He can take care of himself. We’ll find Alsorta and wait until Darius can join us. I have a feeling it will take all of us to bring him in.”

He started up the stairs without another word. Helen followed, wondering how the servants made their way up and down such a poorly lit stairwell. Save for one flickering sconce halfway up, there wasn’t a single source of illumination. She had never been in the back staircase of her own home but she found herself wondering if her family’s servants
had been forced to navigate the house in such conditions. She sincerely hoped not.

Helen was relieved when they arrived at the top of the steps without encountering any of the staff. There would have been no way to avoid them, and while she had been able to fool the old woman in the kitchen, Helen was willing to bet their presence would have raised suspicion with the other servants who probably knew their coworkers by name.

Griffin stopped at the top, looking both ways before waving her forward. They emerged into another hall, this one so richly outfitted that the entire floor seemed like a cocoon. The carpets were thick underfoot, the furniture ornately carved and gleaming. The effect was one of utter isolation from the rest of the world. It was almost possible to believe the house lay in a universe all its own, completely separate from the noise and crime and soot of London.

Bending to the floor, Griffin touched his fingers to a wet spot on the carpet before gesturing for Helen to follow him toward the back of the house. He led her quickly past the closed doors along the hall. She did not ask if he knew where he was going, but when he stopped at a half-open door at the end of the hall, she looked down and understood.

Droplets of water beaded on the wood floor where the carpets
came to an end. Looking back, she noticed the darker spots leading to the back of the hall and knew the girl with the basin of water had come this way.

Griffin’s eyes widened as voices sounded from within the room. They both leaned back against the wall, listening. They were completely exposed. There was no alcove in which to hide. No shadowed corner. If someone emerged from the room, they would be seen. For the first time since they had descended into the tunnel, Helen allowed herself to imagine what they would do if they were caught before Darius found them. There were surely windows through which they could climb, but it was unlikely that they would escape the sprawling grounds if Alsorta was still able to give orders to his men.

Griffin crossed carefully to the other side of the door frame so that they could both peer through the opening. Helen leaned toward it, Griffin’s head only inches from hers as they tried to see inside without making any noise. She could only see a fraction of the room. An ornate, damask paper covering the walls. A wardrobe and washstand near a window. And a hand, dipping rhythmically into the basin, something clinking softly against the ironstone.

“Did I miss anything?”

Helen clamped a hand over her mouth, barely preventing
the scream that threatened to escape as the voice sounded near her ear.

Turning to Darius’s grinning face, she swatted his arm silently, scowling but not daring to say anything aloud. Griffin put a finger to his lips, pointing his brother toward the room.

“Do we know how many are in there?” Darius whispered, close to her ear.

She shook her head, leaning toward him. “Just a maid, I think. But we can’t be certain.”

Before Helen could protest, Darius leaned toward the door, nudging it with his toe. To her relief, it opened a few more inches without a sound.

They leaned farther in, now catching sight of a man, sitting in a chair with his back to the door. It was Alsorta. Helen was sure of it, even from her limited vantage point. His hair was graying as it was in the photographs Galizur had shown them, and the rigid line of his back spoke to the power he was accustomed to wielding over others.