Dusk had settled over London, the last slivers of pink in the sky yielding to darkness. I had been wanderingfor hours. Not lost, but lost all the same.
I thought of going to Estelle and telling her what I had learned about Sebastian. Poor Sebastian! A young man who died before I was even born had somehow captured my sympathy. What had possessed the Snagsbys to use the Clock Diamond on him? What was to be gained? And how could I break the news to his sister?
Hyde Park was a ghost town when I got there. The people had all gone home, home to their warm fires and loving families. I sat down on a bench on Rotten Row. Certain I looked achingly forsaken by the light of the quarter-moon.
‘Well, Ivy,’ I sighed wistfully, ‘what are you going to do now?’
A piercing scream provided the answer. It breached the still night like a siren. A girl’s cry. One in great distress. I peered across the vast stretch of parkland and could just make out the silhouette of a carriage on the thoroughfare. Not far from it a struggle was taking place.
The girl cried out again.
It was impossible to tell how many people were involved, but it didn’t matter – I was already racing towards the fray. As I got closer, I saw two burly men pulling a girl towards the carriage. She was putting up a tremendous fight. Her arms swung. Her legs kicked in defiance.
‘Let me go, you beasts!’ she hollered.
But the girl was eventually overpowered and thrown into the back of the carriage like a sack of potatoes.
I was nearly upon them by that point. ‘Stop, you monstrous brutes!’
The bigger of the two ruffians slammed the carriage door shut – the girl pounded on the darkened window and called for help. Then he fell in beside his partner in crime.
They began walking towards me.
‘What have we here?’ the shorter one said.
‘Get her!’ barked the tall one.
They charged at me. And I charged back. Landed a few decent punches. The odd kick that hit the appropriate target. Tragically, this seemed to amuse the brutes.
‘She’s got spirit,’ one of them said with a snigger.
It shames me to say that it took only one of them to restrain me. The hoodlum, gripping my arm and the back of my neck, frogmarched me towards the carriage. The door was opened and I was lifted off the ground and flung inside. The door locked behind me. Next, I heard the crack of the horsewhip as the carriage took off at great speed, throwing me back into the seat.
‘Pocket?’
I glanced to my left, still violently out of breath, and took my first look at the girl I had tried to rescue. ‘What on earth?’ was my response.
Matilda Butterfield wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘I’m not crying, Pocket, just be clear about that.’
‘Of course not, dear, your face is merely releasing excess liquid. Happens to me on occasion.’
The noise from the horses and carriage wheels was deafening. A furious symphony of roar and rumble. Matilda pounded on the carriage roof. ‘Stop the carriage this instant, you sons of dairymaids!’
The carriage turned left, then right, then right again. I pulled back the curtain and looked out. I no longer knew what part of London we were in. I just knew it wasn’t a nice part. The buildings were grim. The people lurking about even grimmer.
‘I assume we’ve been kidnapped,’ said Matilda calmly.
I nodded. ‘Does seem that way.’
With the curtain parted, soft moonlight pierced the darkened cab. It was then that I noticed Matilda was dressed in a rather fetching pink silk gown. Her black hair was arranged with flowers. She noticed me noticing.
‘I was at a frightful ball with Mother and I decided to walk home as it is only a few streets from our townhouse.’ She pounded the window. ‘These spineless criminals grabbed me from the street and pulled me into the park.’
‘Have you seen them before?’
Matilda shook her head. Frowned. ‘Why were you in Hyde Park at this hour?’
‘Oh, just a moonlit walk.’
Matilda folded her arms as if she were cold. ‘What do you think they want with us, Pocket?’
I looked out of the window and saw dark London flying by. ‘Nothing splendid.’
The room was small. No, the cell was small. For that’s what it was. Damp and small. No windows. Bare floor. Dark stone walls with mildew bleeding down from the ceiling. The smell of damp and filth. The only light was a tallow candle atop a stool. A bed against the wall. A large and positively grim metal door the only point of entry.
The carriage had entered a lane and slowed, turning in through a pair of gates. We were dragged from the carriage in a most undignified display and shoved through a door and into a long, dank corridor. It was impossible to know where we were.
Matilda put up a brave fight. And I was wonderfully vicious. There was a great deal of scratching and kicking. But it was all in vain. We were carried in. Pushed to the back of the cell. Held there as one of our ankles was shackled, tethered by a length of chain to the wall behind us. They even stole our watches.
‘You cannot do this!’ roared Matilda. ‘I am a Butterfield, you blockheads! Have you any idea what my grandmother will do to you when she finds out what you’ve done?’
‘She’s got to find you first, ain’t she?’ said the tall one.
Which was shocking grammar. But largely true. The disagreeable hoodlums checked the shackles, making sure the padlocks were secure. They muttered something about a pint of beer, then began to leave. Which, strange as it may sound, terrified me more than if they had stayed.
‘Do not leave us here!’ shrieked Matilda. ‘Unlock these chains!’
They were at the door now. Soon to be gone.
Desperate for a morsel of information about our plight, I tried a less abusive approach. ‘I realise you poor fellows are probably the product of defective parenting,’ I said, oozing charm, ‘and therefore, can hardly be blamed for kidnapping us. But would you be so kind as to tell us where we are?’
The shorter of the two ruffians took pity. ‘Lashwood,’ he said.
The metal door swung shut. I heard the heavy bolt slide into place.