“I don’t believe you.” She looked up at the back of the house. It seemed like only a frame of the place, though the last time she’d been here the front staircase had remained, leading upward into the ruins. The back looked only slightly more sturdy—the framework reached the full four stories, though the windows and doors were wide open to the elements.
“Of course you don’t, my dear. And I’m perfectly happy to have you die with your illusions intact. We do have a problem though. This place is littered with broken glass, and I don’t want you cutting your feet to ribbons on the way in.”
“We’re going in?” she said, startled. “I thought you’d simply strangle me in the back garden and have done with it. I do understand that a gun might be too loud, though considering how deserted this particular area of the square is, you might very well get away with it.”
“Of course we’re going in. I have no interest in hauling your body around—do you have the slightest idea how much a dead body weighs? It’s quite extraordinary; even someone as light as Cecily’s scrawny little French maid seemed to weigh twice as much once I’d stabbed her. By the time I finished moving the bodies from Kilmartyn’s house I was so prostrate with exhaustion that I couldn’t move.”
“You have all my sympathy. Why do you care whether I cut my feet or not? If I’m about to die I wouldn’t think you’d be that concerned for my comfort.”
“Oh, it’s not your comfort, my dear. It’s the fact that you might leave tracks.” He peered upward, into the rapidly darkening sky. “However, it does look like rain, and a good London soaking will wash any telltale blood away. Come along.” He dragged her forward.
It could have been worse, she told herself, trying not to weep. If she wasn’t going to cry over dying she certainly shouldn’t cry from her feet being cut. She needed to get things in perspective.
The charred wood crunched beneath her bloody feet as he pulled her inside, and she shook herself free from his tight, smothering grip. He laughed softly. “Why, it appears you aren’t fond of my touch, Miss Russell. I’ll have to take that into account.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m planning to take my time with you. You’ve caused me no end of aggravation, and I promised myself a little treat when it came time to finish with you. And if I can perform with a foul cunt like Cecily then I can certainly perform with you. Particularly since Kilmartyn has already broken you to the bridle, so to speak.”
She almost screamed then, but he moved the gun front and center. “I wouldn’t if I were you. You never know whether some miracle might happen and you might be saved. Why throw away your life before it’s absolutely certain?”
“To avoid a lot of pain and degradation?” she said caustically, knowing she wasn’t going to do it.
“Oh, I’d shoot you in a spot that was extremely painful, I do promise you that. And just because you’re dead doesn’t mean I can’t degrade your body. I told you, there’s nothing that can keep me from performing if I have a good enough reason. And I must confess that hurting you is a very good reason indeed. Start climbing. We’ll take the servants’ staircase—you should be used to that by now. I’m not certain how it’ll hold up, but we can consider it an adventure.”
She had no choice—she started up the narrow, winding staircase ahead of him, the only light coming in from above, where the roof had already collapsed.
The first drops of rain splattered down on them, and she heard Brown curse behind her. By the time they reached the first-floor landing her feet were becoming numb—she should count that as a blessing. The doors and most of the walls were gone, and she could recognize the blistered outlines of the wallpaper her mother had chosen, before he jabbed her with the gun once more, and she continued upward, higher and higher.
There were more walls on the second floor, and part of the floor remained. “Keep climbing, my dear. I have just the place for us. Out of this wretched rain, where we can be quite cozy, you and I.”
She kept climbing. The stairs felt spongy beneath her feet, and the entire staircase seemed to sway as they climbed steadily upward. Was it going to hold up long enough, or would it collapse beneath them? If she was going to die she wanted him dead too.
Maybe she could kick back when he wasn’t expecting it, sending him tumbling down the stairs? But then, where would she go? He was blocking the only way out, and he was the one with the gun.
“I do have a little treat for you,” he said in a merry voice, sounding slightly breathless as they neared what remained of the top floor. Clearly he hadn’t been in service or he would have built up more stamina, she thought sourly, thinking of those endless trips up and down Adrian’s stairs. “Just to provide the coup de grâce to the day.”
“And what exactly is that?”
She’d just reached the top floor, when she saw the shadow beneath what was left of the eaves. A shadow that moved out into the storm-infused light, a tall, lean form that was instantly recognizable, despite the incongruous policeman’s jacket he wore.
“Is that you, Kilmartyn?” Mr. Brown called out, as she froze, blocking him. “I thought young Jem would be able to lead you here. He didn’t want to, if that’s any consolation.”
“It’s not,” Adrian snarled from across the darkness. “Who the fuck are you?”
“You don’t have to play the game anymore. She knows the truth, don’t you, my dear? Now don’t keep the man waiting. I’m sure he’d love a kiss good-bye.” He put his hand in the middle of her back and shoved her, and she went sprawling on what was left of the attic floor.
“No!” Adrian shouted, moving toward her, but then he stopped, holding motionless, as the floor beneath her shifted and creaked.
“I’m afraid the floor might not be strong enough for you over here, Kilmartyn.” Mr. Brown hadn’t emerged into the light, his voice eerie and disembodied. “That’s why I sent you that way. You won’t be able to reach her. I didn’t want you to change your mind.”
“Change my mind? What are you talking about?” Adrian’s voice sounded almost unnaturally calm.
“Tsk-tsk. You don’t have to pretend anymore. She knows you’re working with me. Don’t become tiresomely sentimental, old boy. We’ve planned this for too long to let a little bit of crumpet interfere.”
She heard the words with numb dread. It couldn’t be possible. She had gotten to her knees, looking at Adrian from across the gaping chasm of the missing floor. He looked the same, beautiful, cynical, though in the shadows his eyes were dark and unreadable.
“Tell me you don’t believe him, Bryony,” Adrian said. “But of course you do. Your face says it all. You think I’m a thief and a murderer who fucks his victims before he sends them to their death. You’d believe your unseen friend before you’d believe me.”