Teeth clenched in concentration, Meena wedged the silver hair ornament into the rusted slot of the screw high above her head. Only one window—it’s glass shattered—offered escape from their makeshift prison. Sadly, it was covered by a thick grate that had been screwed into place long before Queen Victoria’s coronation. The instant she tried to turn the screw, the silver bent as if it were India rubber.

Meena swallowed a curse and climbed carefully back down the tottering pile of shelves and boxes she and Alicia had constructed. She handed the misshapen piece back to Alicia. “I’m afraid your hair comb will never be the same.”

The girl smiled bravely in the dim light. “It wasn’t one of my favorites.”

Despite their circumstances, Meena grinned. The girl had fortitude. And intelligence. And far more sense than she would’ve expected from a schoolgirl.

Out of habit more than anything else, she arranged her skirts so they wouldn’t wrinkle as she plopped down on yet another broken piece of shelving. She could just make out Alicia’s outline in the fading light. The tiny grated window was their only source of illumination. Meena squinted down at the watch pinned to her dress. Sundown soon. They might have another hour of usable light. Somehow she doubted their captors would grant them a lamp.

Meena studied the walls of the old storeroom one more time, hoping to find something she might have overlooked the hundred other times she searched. She had no idea where they’d been brought. White’s ruffians had thrown sacks over their heads the instant they’d been shoved into a waiting carriage.

But they hadn’t traveled far. Even through the small window, she smelled water. Oily, rotten Thames water. And creosote. And wet wood. They were close by a dock. Which narrowed things down only marginally.

But what sort of building were they in? What type of neighborhood? How populated?

Important details that remained a mystery.

She only knew the space they’d been dragged through smelled strongly of smoke, as if the building had all but burnt to the ground. Though still acrid and chokingly strong, the smell suggested an old fire rather than a recent one. The damp, and the top note of mold, reinforced her conclusion.

Whatever edifice they’d been stashed in must be little more than a burned out hulk.

Yet the store room at the back had survived unscathed. No doubt the steel door had something to do with that. Whatever business had been concluded there required a strongroom with a steel door, a ceiling reinforced with steel beams, and a Hasenpheffer double barrel lock.

The distinctive click had hit her ears the moment one of the men had thrown open the latch to their new prison. The Hasenpheffer was an exquisite lock, hardly an instrument an ordinary shopkeeper could afford.

Or require.

A pity they weren’t on the far side of the door trying to get in. Fine or not, she could have picked it in seconds. On the inside, the door offered only a dummy handle. Unless she found a way to drill through steel, she had no way to access the deadbolt itself.

Alicia tossed her mangled hair comb on the floor next to its bent mate and two twisted shoe buckles. “That’s it for our tools then, isn’t it?”

Meena could tell the younger girl was trying to sound unconcerned, but it wasn’t difficult to detect the note of panic beneath the words. While Alicia’s back remained straight, her lower lip trembled ever so slightly.

Meena surveyed their pitiful pile of possessions. Between her sturdy leather traveling bag and Alicia’s delicate beaded purse, they possessed one boar bristle hairbrush, three hat pins, a vial of Hadley’s verbena and lemon eau du toilette, numerous embroidered handkerchiefs, Caldwell Nance’s latest publication, two sets of gloves, a silver container of lip rouge that Meena suspected Alicia was not supposed to be carrying, and a house key.

Nothing strong enough to tear off that grate, not in its rusted condition. More importantly, nothing that would make an effective weapon against two strong men.

Had she been alone, she would’ve tried stabbing her guards with a hat pin and making a run for it. She didn’t dare do that with Alicia in tow. So it would be a mental game.

Which would require time.

In the interim, she needed to keep her young friend calm and hopeful. Meena squinted up at the tiny window. It wouldn’t hurt to keep trying, even if the effort was futile. It would do Alicia good to think they were making progress.

She motioned Alicia toward the back of the storage space, closest to the window. “Come sit here, where it’s brighter.”

As the girl arranged her skirts so she could sit on the floor, Meena handed her the book.

Alicia examined it as if it were some sort of puzzle. “The Mummy’s Curse?” She wrinkled her nose at the title. “I had no idea you liked sensation novels.”

“Vastly under rated, if you ask me.”

“I’ve never read one.”

“Perfect timing, then.”

“I’m not sure Spencer would approve.”

Meena yanked a hatpin from her purse. “All the better,” she murmured. “I should very much appreciate it if you’d read to me. It calms my nerves. You read, and I’ll work on the grate.”

“Of course.” Alicia appeared to wonder what Meena had done with her wits, but she opened the book.

“I believe it would be best to start at the beginning. I’m already a few chapters in, but the story will make far more sense that way.” Thank Zeus, or Ramses or Tutankhamun, Mr. Nance had recovered his wits. The Mummy’s Curse was a vast improvement upon his last offering.

The book’s binding crackled as Alicia pressed it open in her lap. “It is with horror, and great regret, that I look back upon the series of events that tore me from my home and flung me, completely unaware and unprepared, into a mystery of the most devious creation,” she read. “A mystery who’s chilling climax would test my faith and bring me closer to evil than I hope ever again to come.”

While Alicia read, Meena climbed backup atop the boxes. As she’d suspected, her house key was too fat to fit into the screw’s head. The flat edge of her hat pin did slide into the slot. Although a great deal of rust flaked down the wall as she twisted, the screw remained frozen. The window was barred with hardened steel. A hat pin would get her nowhere. But it was something to do, something to assure Alicia that they would escape.

And they would do.

“Worry not, dear reader,” Alicia continued. “My adventure was not without its rewards. Through such trials and tribulations as I hope never to relive, I was presented with True Love.”

Meena’s breath caught. The passage pained her just as much as it had the first time she’d read it the day after Spencer left. She curled her hand around the useless hat pin. If only she weren’t such a coward.

Deep in her heart, she was a frightened little ninny. Not frightened of Leyland White, his men, or their nefarious plans. She’d find a way to escape, or Spencer and her family would find a way in. Either way, she and Alicia would be home before breakfast.

She was a coward when it came to her heart.

If she only she’d had the courage to trust him. He might well have broken her heart again, but she survived the first time.

If only she’d realized sooner that it was worth the risk. She and Spencer would be sitting there together. Knee to knee. Hip to hip. Shoulder to Shoulder.

Heart to heart.

Meena sighed disgustedly. He wasn’t, and they weren’t.

“Shall I continue?” Alicia was looking up at her.

Meena picked up the sound of footsteps outside the door. Then the distinctive snick of a key turning in the lock. She held her hand out. “Wait.” Hand still wrapped around the long pin, she scrambled down from her perch.

“Don’t you try anything.” One of their captors called out as he swung the door slowly open. “I’ve brung you some food.”

A harsh laugh came from behind him. “What do you think they’ll do, Jones? Swat you with their handbags?”

A wiry man with graying hair and worry lines etched deep into his thin face, poked his head around the door. At his colleague’s comment, his eyes widened in fear. He waited until his eyes adjust to the gloom and he could see that Meena and Alicia were nowhere near the door before he inched further inside.

Meena tried to take the tin plates from his hands. “Thank you.”

The man shrank back, pulling the plates to his chest. “Stay back.” He set them on the floor at his feet. “I’ve heard tell of you. You’re gonna try something.”

“I think not.” Meena stretched taller and crossed her arms over her chest. “That won't be necessary.”

The man blinked at her as if he hadn’t understood her perfectly clear statement.

“Your boss, Mr. White? He’s gotten you into a great deal of trouble. More trouble than you’re aware of, I’d venture to guess.”

The man said nothing, but he watched her closely. She could see the muscles in his neck working as he swallowed repeatedly.

“I see you’re aware of the penalty for kidnapping then.” She nodded thoughtfully. “He must be paying you all a king’s fortune to risk the noose.”

The man’s hands began to shake, and his eyes, already round with fright, grew even wider.

Excellent.

Fear would make them slow. Slow and stupid and careless.

Before she could continue her onslaught, a meaty fist reached through the doorway and seized the back of the man’s collar. “That’ll be enough of that.”

The smaller man was dragged back through the opening and the door slammed shut.

“That was an excellent start.” Meena picked up the plates and handed one to Alicia. “We should eat. We’ll need our strength later.”

Alicia frowned at a stale chunk of bread. “They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?”

“Absolutely not.”

To Meena’s dismay, her bracing statement did not appear to have the desired effect. Alicia’s eyes were filling with tears.

Meena dropped her own bread back down atop the overcooked mutton on her own plate. “Alicia, look at me.”

She locked gazes with the girl, trying to infuse her with her own sense of confidence. “We are far more valuable alive. They intend to trade us for something.”

Alicia’s small nod encouraged her.

“But more to the point,” Meena continued, “I have an escape plan. We should be out of here directly.”

“But there’s no way to remove the grate.”

“Unnecessary.” Meena picked up her bread. “We’ll be leaving through the door.”

A tiny shake of the head told Meena she hadn’t yet succeeded in convincing her charge. She forged ahead. “The men guarding us? They’re poor and desperate and considerably less than brilliant. I have the smaller one half convinced to let us out already.”

“You do?”

“Most definitely.” Meena nibbled at the bread. “Fear is a slow acting poison, but it is unerringly effective.”

“Maybe Spencer and your cousins will find us first. They’re quite clever.”

“They are indeed. It’s likely they’ll locate us before I have the guard convinced. Either way, we’ll be eating a real supper soon. A late supper, but still.” Meena paused as if she were thinking. “Late suppers always require extra dessert. It’s a law of sorts.”

Alicia attempted a smile and bit into her bread.

The crunch of dry bread echoed in the small room as they ate. Meena would get Alicia back to her brother. Her only worry was seeing Spencer again herself.

While her foolish heart leapt at the thought, her brain shied away from the pain she knew would knife her unmercifully the next time she had to watch him laugh, watch his beautiful mouth curve wide into a wicked grin.

And know it would never again be for her.

* * *

“White said ten o’clock. Where is the sodding pig?” Spencer glared down at the box holding the gramophone. The urge to kick it, to smash to pieces, was so strong his leg twitched with the effort to hold himself back.

“Steady, man.” Burke clapped a hand on his shoulder. “It’s only just gone the hour.”

Spencer drew in a deep, shuddering breath. The wait was killing him. Inch by inch, he could feel his soul being squeezed by the relentless nightfall.

Knowing Alicia and Meena were out there, in the cold, in the dark, at the hands of God knew who…

He stared at the bricks marching in a circular pattern around the subway entrance, desperate to calm the rage that threatened to blind him. Even if this hadn’t been his fault, the waiting would be intolerable.

Knowing he had led them to this place made it unbearable.

Sweet came up behind them in the dark. “Don’t see a thing.”

Even Burke looked concerned. The knowledge twisted Spencer’s gut.

The inspector let out a deep sigh. He narrowed his eyes as if it would help him penetrate the darkness. “It’s an odd place for a meeting.”

Spencer had thought so too. White’s final note had specified the south entrance to the Tower Subway. The odd round building housing the stairway down to the cross Thames tunnel was surrounded by shops. Nightfall, however, sucked the life from the entire neighborhood. Shops were shuttered and the street vendors had long since disappeared back to their homes.

The entire block surrounding the tower appeared to be deserted. A soft summer breeze stirred the air, wrapping them in the fetid odor of the great Thames.

Soft, steady footfalls reach his ears. His hand went to the butt of his pistol, but relaxed when he made out the Hapgoods and Briar Sweet hurrying toward them. He squinted into the dim light from the one lamp flickering at the side of the tunnel entrance, disappointment marked their faces.

“Nothing then?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking.

Three heads shook in unison.

Spencer turned from the group and jammed his fists on his hips. He took slow, deep breaths, in through his nose, out through his mouth. In. Out. Trying to tamp down the rage—the abject fear—threatening to overwhelm him. What the hell game was White playing?

He turned back toward the group. The same thoughts seem to be written across all of their faces. Over Mrs. Hapgood’s shoulder, the open doorway to the tunnel loomed like a black, evil mouth.

Sweet caught Spencer studying the doorway. He shook his head. “It’s nothing but a trap.”

He had to agree.

Only one man wide, the doorway fed into a steep spiral staircase that dead-ended at the true entrance to the subway, well below the river’s bed. Anyone entering would be silhouetted in the doorway.

A perfect target.

Spencer looked at each of them in turn. “Not much choice, is there? I’m the one they want.”

It was a long moment before the inspector responded. He reached behind him and pulled his pistol out of the waistband of his trousers. “I’ll be right behind.”

Sweet held out his arms, sweeping the Hapgoods and his sister toward the edge of the shadows. “Mr. H, stand guard with the ladies.” Then he whirled around to face Spencer and the inspector. From the breast pocket of his coat, he extracted one of his disodorizers. “We might find a use for this beauty.”

Despite the fear threatening to launch the contents of his stomach to the pavement, Spencer managed a grim smile. It would do. More than do. Both Burke and Sweet were solid and just foolhardy enough to seize on any opportunity White might allow.

He looked at the boxes holding the gramophone and the extra cylinders he had set off in the shadows. “I don’t think we’ll take that just yet.”

“Agreed.” Sweet was quick to weigh in. “We need to see the women first.”

“Absolutely,” Burke agreed. “Can’t let them get their hands on it until we know the women are close by.”

Spencer gave a sharp nod and jogged through the entrance. A turnstile, set just inside the shadowed landing, stopped him short.

“Hey now!” A portly attendant slid to his feet from a stool perched at the edge of the turnstile and stuck out a meaty hand. “That’s a ha-penny each for the toll.”

Even as he reached in his waistcoat for the coin, Spencer spoke. “We’re looking for our friends. Seems we misplaced them at a pub on Tooley street.”

“The Squire’s Shoe, I believe it was.” Sweet was quick to pick up the narrative. He put a finger to his lips as if he were lost in thought. “Or was it the Nine Hammers?”

“No idea who’s been through here. Don’t much care, long as they pay.” The attendant shifted from side to side as if his fat feet pained him. “Do I look like a bleeding wet nurse? The toll’s a ha-penny. You want in or no?”

Spencer shared a look with his companions.

Sweet fingered his disodorizer, his cold gaze on the attendant. “I’ll stay back. They might show up here.”

Spencer chose a penny and flipped it to the attendant, then he filled his lungs with air, his eyes on the dim light far below. His heart pounded as he descended the circular stairs to the tunnel below, Burke close on his heels. Once they wound their way down below the level of the river, the winding staircase would dump them at the base of the tunnel itself.

Which he tried very hard not to imagine.

He’d likely be shot at any moment anyway. That should have been far more worrisome. If he were White, he would have had a man stationed at the base of the stairs, ready to pick them off the instant he handed over the gramophone.

Still, the small space worked on his nerves, causing a cold sweat to pepper his forehead. The lower they climbed, the shallower his breathing became. A few more yards, and he’d be an easy target for anyone hiding in the mouth of the tunnel.

Once they glimpsed the tunnel entrance, the Inspector stopped and aimed his revolver over the edge of the railing. “I’ll cover you from here.”

Spencer nodded and flew down the last of the stairs.

The landing space at the bottom was larger than he remembered. And it was deserted. Like the stairway, it had been bored from the great river’s bed.

Hoping to make a smaller target for any unseen assailant, he flattened his back against the bricks and peaked into the long tunnel.

Nothing. Just the monotonous drip of moisture on the iron walkway. And the soft scuttling of night creatures, hunters and the hunted.

The tunnel itself, about a quarter of a mile long, thrust its way under the river clear to Tower Hill. The iron-rimmed hole seemed to pulsate with the weak glow from the many gas lamps strung along its low ceiling.

Spencer dug his fingers into the damp brick, trying to shake off the dread clamped tight around his throat. A nasty place. Fitting for a nasty business.

Spencer squinted down the length of the tunnel itself. Nothing. No figures moving toward them through the yellow light. No footsteps. No laughter. Not a breath of air.

Just the chalky damp of the walls, cocooning them almost a hundred feet below ground. He tried to rid his mind of the images: the weight of all that water, the tons of rock and silt between, and the ships. Ships, water taxis, barges weighted down with unimaginable loads, were slicing through the water overhead.

But no figures materialized in the slender tube. “All clear,” he called out.

The inspector flew down the stairs, his feet clattering on the iron treads.

Spencer slammed a palm against the curved iron supports. “What the hell is his game?”

“Hold up.” Burke lunged toward a shadow at the far left of the tunnel. He stopped short as if he’d run into an invisible wall. “Bollocks.”

Hands held away from his body, the inspector straightened. Spencer shouldered his way in next to him. Far back behind the lip of the tunnel, in a pool of shadow cast by the stairway itself, a body lay propped up against the wall. The tip of one shoe just caught the edge of the light.

Ramsay.

Burke was shaking his head. “He was in his cell this morning. Saw him myself. How the hell did White get him out?”

Skin an ungodly white, Ramsay’s neck lolled at an unnatural angle. Spencer didn’t need to touch him to see he was dead.

The inspector knelt next to the body and pressed a finger to the side of the dead man’s neck. “Still warm. Wasn’t long.”

Damn it. If they’d only been quicker.

“Hang on.” The inspector plucked a white square off of Ramsay’s chest.

Unable to contain his impatience, Spencer snatched it away and stepped back into the light.

Without a word, he handed the scrap back to the inspector.

The other man muttered an oath. “We’ll have a hard time making that.” Holding only the very corner, he slipped it carefully into his pocket. “I imagine that’s exactly what White wants.”

Spencer’s heart pounded so loudly he could barely hear. He suspected it, but now he knew. White was toying with them, maximizing their worry, their fear, their desperation.

Each convoluted step in his twisted game only increased the chances he’d be caught. That, more than anything, sent a cold shaft of fear straight to Spencer’s gut. The man didn’t care about expediency, didn’t care about erasing the evidence against him.

He was enjoying their fear.

Spencer swayed on his feet. The dank walls closed in on him. Thieves, he could handle. Cheats and hustlers and cons might not play by normal rules, but they did play by rules.

Mad men made their own.

“I’ll take the tunnel.” Spencer eyed the far end, as yet out of sight but for a black smudge far in the distance. “You get the others. Follow as quickly as you can.”

He took off running toward the other side of the river. The walkway dipped beneath his weight as he ran, making his stride choppy. His footsteps echoed off the iron walkway, surrounding him in a chaos of sound so loud he couldn't think.

All the better.

He had no taste for his own thoughts at the moment.