I took a step forward, testing the wooden planks over the water before putting my whole weight on them, wondering at what point I’d face Sutcliffe. Was he behind a column? Waiting for me just beyond the light of my candle? I was sweating despite the coolness of the space and had to force my feet forward.
“I did say thirty minutes, did I not, Lady Emily?”
His voiced bounced around me; I could not tell where he stood.
“You’re using up all your time. Might want to hurry.”
And then I heard a muffled sob that fueled me to move forward with greater speed. “Let her go,” I said. “You can well see that I’m here and alone.”
“This is not a time for you to be making demands,” he said.
I bit back the reply on my lips and continued walking, trying to determine where Roxelana was. “What is it you want from me?” I asked.
“You should have left things alone,” he said. “There was no reason to interfere. All those deaths after Ceyden’s are on your conscience.”
“I have not killed anyone.”
“They would all be alive still if it weren’t for you.”
I wanted to keep him talking, to distract him while I came up with a viable strategy. “I know you killed Ceyden,” I said, wanting to test my suspicion.
“It doesn’t matter what I did so long as St. Clare thinks it was him.”
“You did kill her.”
He laughed. “I never dared hope my revenge would be so complete. The boy made it easy.”
“Roxelana?” I asked. “Where are you? Are you next to him?”
More muffled sobs, with a greater urgency this time. “Quiet!” he said.
I heard footsteps. He was on the walkway, not in the water. I looked over the edge of the path, gauging the depth. Fish darted, startled by the light, and their reaction inspired me. I could see clearly the bottom of the green pool, not more than three feet below the surface. I broke the top third off my candle and then tilted it so that the wax pooled on the wooden rail next to me, until there was enough to hold the luminary upright. Sticking it hard into the middle of the melted mass, I held it in place until the wax had cooled. I backed away, wanting to distance myself from the light. Then, hiking up my skirts to my knees, I ducked beneath the rail and stepped into the water as quietly as possible and stood, perfectly still.
“Are you waiting for me to come to you?” he asked. The light from his torch—much stronger than that thrown by my candle—bounced between walls and water as he spun around, looking for me. Moving in silence, careful not to splash in the water, I walked away from the door across the open expanse of the pool, keeping far from the space illuminated around him.
Every time I reached a column I would pause, resting against it, wishing I could slow my heart, that my legs would stop shaking. And then I would continue on, moving in a wide half circle until I’d come almost close enough to see him from behind.
“I am not amused, Lady Emily,” he said, still watching for me. “I can kill her now. Come to me at once.”
A metallic clicking told me he was readying a gun. My breath was coming too fast now, my eyes stinging from the sweat dripping down my brow. I could not let Roxelana die. A few more steps and I could see her. He’d been holding her by the arm but had to let go to pull the pistol out from his belt, keeping the torch held high, looking all the while in the direction of my candle.
I knew better than to think I could get the gun from him. There had to be another way. As I watched my candle’s flame in the distance, it came to me. Stepping back, I crouched behind a column, the base of which was a hideous head of Medusa, inverted so as to be upside down. I reached under my skirt and pulled off one of my petticoats, holding it under the water to flood every fiber of the cotton. Bundling it up into a loose but heavy ball, I wrapped it in my skirts and again moved towards them.
I somehow needed to will my arms to stop trembling, lest my plan be ruined altogether, but I seemed wholly incapable of controlling them. I held my breath, for it was too ragged and too loud as I continued to move towards them, away from my candle, disturbing the water as little as possible.
And then I waited. The stub of my candle did not take long to burn out, but it seemed like hours before its light was gone.
“What have you done?” he asked. “Blown out your candle? Do you forget I have something better?”
I resumed my journey through the water. Terror struck with full potential once I’d reached the flickering circle lit by his torch. He was holding it in his left hand, his right firm on the pistol pointed not towards Roxelana, but where he thought I was standing. I could see now that the columns were not identical. Some were Corinthian, some Doric, and one not far from me was covered with carvings that looked like tears.
“I’ve grown tired of your games,” he said. He raised the gun to the ceiling and fired. Roxelana screamed as the shot ricocheted, but it hit nothing of consequence. Acting out of pure instinct, I knew this was the moment and flung my soaking petticoat onto the flame of the torch. The water doused it at once, and we all stood in absolute darkness.
“Roxelana, run!” I said, silently thanking whoever had decided petticoats should have enough yardage in them to give them a serious heft when wet. “Follow the railing and get to the door.”
I’d figure out some way to unlock the door when I reached it. I heard scrambling feet—it sounded as if she tripped but managed to right herself and set off. Mr. Sutcliffe, however, was still. Not wanting to go near him, I tried as best I could to retrace the way I’d come, no easy feat in an underground room devoid of all light.
“What have you done?” His breathing was hard, irregular, too fast, his voice quivering as he spoke. “Light your candle again. At once.”
I kept moving, hoping I was headed for the door, hoping that the police in the bazaar had taken my direction seriously and that soon we’d have reinforcements. And then, despite myself and despite the hideous circumstances, I almost laughed, realizing that if Colin were there, he’d be bent on rescuing me, and this made me all the more determined to escape on my own.
Roxelana was moving, her steps steady but not fast, but Sutcliffe had still not summoned whatever it would take to make himself move. A whimper escaped from his lips, his fear and panic palpable. I prayed he would not be able to conquer it.
“You must light the candle. Please!” He was shouting now, desperate. “I can’t stand it—you must help me.”
And then I heard a terrible sound. A match. I turned to see the quick flash of brightness. He tried to light the torch, but it was too wet, and he struck a second match and started walking.
“I will kill you,” he said. “You should not have done this to me.”
I had somehow wound my way back to the boardwalk, my hand, which I’d held out in front of me, rubbed against a post of the rail, a splinter sliced into my palm. Undaunted, I continued on, using the rail as a guide. The second match burned out, and he lit a third.
“I can’t open it!” Roxelana had reached the door and was banging on it, her voice full of tears. “Help me, Emily!”
We were so close now. If I could get to the door, I could figure out some way to open the latch. I moved more quickly, then slowed my pace, not wanting to give him audible clues as to where I was. I wished Roxelana would stop pounding on the door but could do nothing about it. I was nearly to her.
The dim match light died, and I braced for him to strike another, but he didn’t. “Light your candle! You do not understand what you are doing to me. Light it!”
He was crying now—heaving sobs—and I let myself move more quickly. No sooner had I started than he began shooting. He was aiming at the ceiling again, trying to frighten us. Great chunks of plaster or rock or something crashed into the water, setting Roxelana screaming again. I pulled myself out of the water, held both sides of the railing in my hands, and ran as fast as I could.
“Emily! Please! Help me!”
I did not mean to reply, but the words came out almost before I realized it. “I’m coming!”
My voice bounced through the chamber, but the echo didn’t confuse him enough. The direction of his bullets was more pointed now, and I dropped to my knees, determined to crawl the rest of the way, a dull pain in my side as I pulled myself along on my elbows. It was only when my corset, already damp, started to grow warm that I realized he’d hit me. The wound itself did not hurt much, but I felt woozy at once, scared and sick. Rescue no
