CONSTANCE STOLE THROUGH THE basement corridors, avoiding the occasional roaming gang member, heading for Leng’s suite of laboratories. She had been shocked and dismayed to see Aloysius chained to a metal post in the library, but she believed—as they had agreed at the bordello—that if their plans managed to reach this point, they each had clear and specific tasks to accomplish. The task she’d been assigned—and demanded—was to rescue her siblings.
She had to move with infinite care. The lack of electricity was her friend—the basement had no gaslights, and the kerosene lanterns carried by the searchers were dim and hardly penetrated the murk. She, for her part, was able to move without light—an ability gained after a hundred years spent in these same corridors. But the discovery of the sub-basement grottos, and the focus on them that immediately followed... these were things she had not planned on.
As she neared the laboratory entrance, she could hear the muffled cries of a protesting Mary. As much as it filled her with relief, it also—cruelly—filled her with desperation. She remembered all too well that Leng had vivisected the first half dozen successful guinea pigs—-just to be certain—before he began injecting it himself. This was likely one reason he’d kept her alive this long; the other was his need for a decent laboratory to perform the procedure... and which was where Mary had just, almost certainly, been taken.
She crept up to a corner and peered around. Ten yards ahead lay the entrance to Leng’s suite of labs. One of the Milk Drinkers stood guard at the doorway. Even as she waited, considering what to do, she heard Mary’s cries drop in tone and volume and become softer, more confused. It was safe to assume she’d just been injected with a sedative, rendering her pliable and helpless.
It was also safe to assume she was being prepped for surgery.
Grasping her stiletto, Constance picked up a pebble and tossed it against a far wall, where it made a faint rattling noise. Then she ducked back around the corner.
“Who’s there?” came the guard’s voice. Another guard then appeared in the doorway of the lab. Leng was taking no chances.
“Oi, what you moaning about?”
“I heard something out there.”
A clank sounded as they unshouldered their rifles and began moving forward. They raised the wicks of their lanterns for more flame, and the dull light beyond became brighter.
Two of them. Constance, with her keen hearing, could tell they were moving in parallel along either side of the corridor. That meant one would come around the corner directly in front of her, while the other remained on the opposite side.
She crouched, tensing. She could hear the nearest guard approach the corner, then pause. What would follow was obvious—he’d wheel around the corner, weapon aimed at waist level—but she was ready. He made his move and she leapt up, knocking the rifle barrel away so quickly he couldn’t get off a shot, while spinning him around and sticking the stiletto deep enough into his throat to render him incapable of speech. She held him in front of her as a shield while turning toward the opposite guard, who’d heard the scuffle and trained his weapon on her but was unable to get a clear shot.
“Drop the weapon or I’ll skewer your confederate,” Constance said matter-of-factly.
The man rushed her.
She sliced through the guard’s throat, then heaved the body at the approaching man, who ducked aside to dodge it. This was an equally obvious move—Constance, anticipating it, came at him from the side, slashing him deep across the neck as he fired, missing her.
She stepped aside as he sprawled across his partner, the two men gurgling a dying chorus.
Now Constance snatched up a rifle and sprinted down the hall through the laboratory door, past rows of jars and equipment, into the operating theater. She looked around, gun at the ready. Mary was on the operating table, two assistants apparently in the middle of draping for surgery. A third assistant had been laying out surgical instruments and phials on a tray. All three, having heard the shot, were standing rigidly, faces turned toward her, frozen in surprise.
It seemed that, in addition to improving and migrating his laboratory from the one now underwater in the Five Points sewers, Leng had also upgraded his surgical staff from merely the untrained but enthusiastic Munck.
Their confusion lasted just long enough for her to take down two with rapid shots while still on the move. But the third grabbed a scalpel and, to her surprise, threw it at her. She was forced to dodge it as she swung the rifle around. Her next shot went wide and the man was on top of her, strong as an ox. He grabbed the scalpel from the floor and raised it, but she blocked his arm. She lunged upward and sank her teeth into the man’s nose, twisting her head viciously. The man reared back with a roar, his grip loosening enough for her to twist the scalpel out of his hand and cut his throat with it, the spray of blood temporarily blinding her.
She rolled his body off her own, rose to her feet, and went quickly to Mary, laid out on the operating table. She was dressed in a white surgical gown, only partially conscious.
“Mary,” she whispered. “Mary.” She gave her a gentle slap across the face.
Her eyes did not come into focus.
“Get up.” Constance slipped her arms under Mary’s and helped her off the table.
“What’s … going on?” Mary slurred, knees buckling as she sank to the floor.
Constance tried to pull her to her feet, but Mary was heavily drugged. Still, there wasn’t an instant to spare; Leng might appear at any moment.
She hurriedly sorted through the contents of the medical tray, looking for adrenaline or some nineteenth-century equivalent. She found a bottle labeled COCAINE HYDROCHLORIDE 7% AQUEOUS SOLUTION.
Cocaine? It was a stimulant, and she was out of options. She inserted a needle into the bottle, sucked up a small amount, then stuck it in Mary’s arm.
The response was dramatic. Mary’s eyes fluttered open, then she looked around in a panic. “Who are you?”
“A friend. I’m here to get you out.” Constance wiped the guard’s blood off her face with a nearby roll of gauze. “Come with me.”
They exited the lab the way they had come. Constance grasped the hand of Mary, who staggered along behind her, confused but compliant, slowly regaining her senses. At the tunnel intersection, Constance paused and yanked a revolver from the belt of one of the dead guards. Now she led Mary in the opposite direction: a turn, another turn, then—up ahead—a third. The cell holding Binky and Joe was just beyond it. She could hear, somewhere down the halls, the sound of shouts and running feet.
She took a breath, then swiveled around the corner. Just a foot away, a guard was standing in alarm, rifle raised, back turned to her. She jammed the gun into his kidneys and pulled the trigger. Grabbing him as he fell, she plucked the keys from his belt, ran up to the cell door, and opened it. The two children rushed to her and Mary, Binky crying out loudly.
“Quiet!” Constance said sharply. “No time. Follow me.”
The only way out still available was now up, rather than down: to the main floor, and then out … one way or another.
Heading away from the sounds of footsteps, she made for a back corridor that led to the basement wine cellar; a stairway to the kitchen, she knew, was nearby. She pulled the confused Mary along by the hand, Joe and Binky careful to keep up.
It quickly grew so dark that, with no lantern, they were unable to see. Constance paused, then whispered to the two youngest: “Keep hold of my dress.”
She held Mary’s hand as they continued down the black corridor. Agitated voices echoed through the basement; people were approaching. Constance felt along the damp wall, found a niche, and pulled the rest in with her. A light grew brighter as a patrol approached. Constance slipped the revolver out of her waistband and eased the hammer back, finger on the trigger. The men appeared, walking fast, one holding a lantern, arm outstretched in front of him. They passed hurriedly, not seeing the little group shrinking back into the niche. Constance turned the muzzle to follow them.
Ten seconds later, she eased back the trigger, led the way out of the niche, and continued on. Soon, a musky scent of old oaken barrels told her they were passing the wine cellar. She touched the wall from time to time as they moved—and then her fingers contacted the doorframe of the staircase leading up to the kitchen.
“This way,” she whispered.
They mounted the stairs awkwardly, children clinging, Mary being led by the hand. As they moved, the image of Aloysius, chained to the iron post, returned to Constance. It was true, the three of them had had solo tasks to perform, without aid from the others—but at this late hour, the thought of leaving him alone with Enoch Leng, poisoned or not, was troublesome indeed.
At the top of the narrow stair, she cracked opened the door, then emerged into a back kitchen. It was dim, but there now was enough ambient light for everyone to make out their surroundings.
“You can let go,” she whispered. “We’re almost there.”
The children released their hold. Constance cast around, and her gaze stopped at a ground-level window above a long marble counter. She picked up a heavy copper saucepan, wrapped a dishcloth around it, and swung it into the glass, shattering the window, then used the saucepan to break away the sharp edges around the frame. She grabbed Binky, hoisted her up and out; Joe scrambled out on his own and Mary followed.
“Run to the road along the river,” Constance told Joe, pointing toward the front of the mansion. “Stay near the bushes. Féline is waiting at the Post Road with Murphy and the carriage.”
“Aren’t you coming?” Joe asked.
She hesitated a moment. “No. I’ve got unfinished business inside.”