ARC: The Buried Life (19 page)

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Dashing through passages and sprinting down tunnels, Jane had left the sight of her apartment warren before she knew where she was going. She slowed at Tanney Passage to catch her breath and clear her head. The newspaper had said that Roman was home, and Fredrick had said that he was all right, but she needed to see this for herself. Her pulse thumped a rapid pace in her throat, and she assessed her options.

It would be nine o’clock in several minutes, which meant curfew. Jane didn’t have an excuse to be out, but she thought that she could invent something suitable if it became necessary. She had an idea of where Carnegie was, and on the outskirts of the Vineyard, it wouldn’t be hard to find. Her only problem was getting there and without getting caught… by the guards or anyone else. She hoped that she knew the subterranean passages well enough from her laundry runs to evade anyone that she might not wish to meet.

Jane sprinted along the passages on padded feet, skirting the major thoroughfares and on the lookout for guards. She had not decided what she would do when she reached Arnault’s domicile, but she resolved to trust her feet for now and her wits later. Her pulse steadied as she sprinted, crept, and listened. She nearly ran in front of a pair of patrollers, but she ducked behind a corner just in time and watched them pass unaware, close enough for her to tug their coats.

She glimpsed the few trolleys and railcars still running, hearing their growls and hums below her feet and above her head. They could save her thirty minutes of travel, but she did not want to answer any questions.

Her pace slowed as she neared the Vineyard, expecting to find more guards. She wandered the grid of tunnels on the outer rim of the Vineyard, convinced that Carnegie was somewhere nearby. Rounding a corner, she heard someone shout.

“You there!” a man directly behind her called. She froze, and as she heard footsteps draw closer, turned.

The guard was standing five yards down the passage, his hands folded behind his back. “It’s half an hour past curfew, you know. Where are you off to this late?”

Jane looked up at the nearest tunnel marker and read “Carnegie.” “Home,” she said. In the low lighting, she saw the hint of a smile.

“You’ll pardon my saying so, miss, but you don’t exactly look like you live around here.”

“A maid. I’m a maid, officer.” Looking down at the worn hem on her skirt and her disheveled garments, she could see what he meant.

“I see. And what are you doing out?”

This was the question she had hoped to avoid. None of the explanations that she had invented along the way seemed plausible now that she was standing in front of an actual guard, pistol, uniform, and all. As she made a final effort to think of an excuse, she blushed and her eyes darted to the ground. The guard seemed to take meaning from this and laughed aloud.

“Oh-ho-ho, I see what this is! Don’t you worry, missy – your little secret is safe with me. But you’d best hurry on ’fore someone else notices what’s missing at home, right?” He gave her a wink that was a little too familiar.

Nodding, she turned and hurried down the next passage, eager to be out of the guard’s sight for more than one reason. Thinking back to her conversation about Olivia, she wondered how many others like her were out past curfew making their rounds.

Fortunately for Jane, most of the doors were marked with plaques bearing the names of the occupants or businesses. She walked quickly, scanning them. Carnegie was a serpentine passage with a high ceiling and sturdy, varnished doors that spoke of position, so when she reached the plaque gnawed by tarnish, she knew she’d found the right one. The printed name “ARNAULT” confirmed her suspicions and, brushing a few stray locks from her face, she rang the bell. The tasseled cord left a fine film of crumbling red velvet on her palm as the bell sounded on the other side of the door. The radiance stones set in the passage glowed dimly, their white light reflected off of the smooth gray walls. She began to count them as she waited.

After a few moments, she heard a click on the other side. Roman opened the door, and his face betrayed his astonishment at seeing her there.

“Miss Lin, this is an unexpected surprise.” He looked her up and down and glanced all around her, as if anticipating someone else. “It’s well after curfew, you know?”

“That wouldn’t stop you.”

He laughed. “No, it wouldn’t. Please come inside, and forgive my poor manners.” She followed as he ushered her in and led her to the drawing room. His hair hung free to his chin and, as seemed his custom, he was dressed loosely and comfortably. Jane noted a slight limp in his right step.

“Sit and rest. I don’t entertain many guests, but I hope you’ll make yourself comfortable.”

She took the offered seat next to a crackling fire. She sank into the plush armchair, letting her heels slide down the scroll-patterned area rug at her feet and looked around.

The drawing room was not large, but it was well-furnished. The wood paneling and flooring lent a warm touch and a rich scent to the room. Bookcases, packed full with multicolored spines and assorted oddities, framed the fireplace and ran the length of that wall. Foreign-looking artifacts and hangings nestled between the books and adorned the walls, reflecting the tastes of an explorer or eccentric more than a sinister misanthrope. A map decorated one segment of the wall, and a pair of microscopes sat in a corner, next to a shelf holding orbs of various sizes and designs.

“The one on the left shows the world bisected by the magnetic poles,” he said, following her gaze. “And next to it is a globe map of the constellations.”

Looking down, Jane realized that the carpet alone must cost more than her apartment. Now trying to lift her feet from it, she looked to the ancient telescope sitting against the far wall.

“And that doesn’t work indoors,” Roman said. He spread his hands and turned back to her. “It doesn’t compare with the luxury of the Vineyard, but it’s at your disposal.”

“It’s beautiful.” Her gaze rested on the wall of bookshelves, the embossed covers winking at her in the fire’s glow. In the light, she could just make out the titles of the copies nearest her.

Roman circled to the chair across from her and sat, resting on one elbow. “What brings you here this late?”

Fingering the nap on the arm of her chair, Jane realized that she had not fully answered that question for herself. “I read about your incident in the paper, and I wanted to see how you are.”

“A house call?” he asked with feigned shock.

“I suppose so.”

“I’m touched. Did you have any trouble getting here?”

“Not really.” She hesitated. “Well, I ran into one guard.”

“He didn’t stop you?”

Jane blushed. “I told him I was on my way home.”

His eyes widened even further and he leaned forward. “You lied to the City Guard? Jane, I’m shocked… and proud. This is unlike you.”

“I’m a little surprised, myself.” Smiling, she relaxed. “Funny, though, it wasn’t as hard as I thought.”

“You fooled him?”

“I got lucky, I’d say. I suppose I still have some learning to do to really trick anyone.” She looked back at him and saw his grin spreading, his gaze intent. Embarrassed, she glanced back at the fire. “It hardly compares with your adventures, though. How are you feeling?”

He touched the welt above his cheek. “Not too bad. But I will have to ask you to keep your wit at a minimum,” he said, running a hand over the cut in his side.

Jane was surprised to notice how contentedly she had reclined in her own chair, relaxing at his good humor. Something in the shape of his posture or the slant of his smile suggested a different man from the one she had met at the gala or even at Hollens’s place. If this was the change that a knock on the head could produce, she could not bring herself to regret his misfortune.

He stretched in his own chair and spoke again. “I’m relieved to see you here, Jane. After facing doctors, councilors, and inspectors all day, it’s good to see a friendly face.”

The word “inspectors” stung her with a tiny but precise force, and she realized part of what had driven her here: a desire to investigate. Basking in warmth from more than the hearth, she cringed at the thought of betraying this charming new Roman, but she remembered her conversation with Malone. Besides, even he had admired her newfound cunning, hadn’t he?

She squinted vaguely, assuming a look that, she hoped, suggested she had just thought of something. “Did you say ‘inspectors’? That’s funny, I thought they weren’t supposed to investigate the Vineyard murders anymore.” She looked over at Roman, hoping that he would think nothing of the heat rising in her face. “Fredrick told me,” she added. “He hears all sorts of things at the paper, and he generally doesn’t keep them to himself.”

“He’s right. Unfortunately, some people are as dogged as they are ignorant.” A dark expression clouded his features, and Jane decided to move the conversation along.

“I’m sorry about what happened to you, but I’m glad you’re alive.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Do you remember anything about how it happened?”

“Only vaguely. It was over in a flash.” He looked down at his right side and touched his cheekbone again. “I kept reminders of the significant events, though.”

Jane grinned. “It’s just still so hard to believe all of it. Who could do something like that?”

“I wish I knew.”

“You mean you didn’t get a look at him during the attack?”

“I could be asking you the same thing,” he said. She swallowed and wondered if she was pressing too hard.

“But wait, Fredrick never published my name. How did you know about–?”

“Jane, you forget who I work for. The Council knows everything. Almost everything,” he added gently.

“But not the name of the murderer.”

A crooked smile spread from one cheek to the other. “No, not the name of the murderer.” Jane blinked away the image of Roman’s toothy grin. Her lack of subtlety felt like a weight around her ankles.

“I suppose Ruthers isn’t too happy about that,” she said. An instant of shock registered on Roman’s face, and she corrected herself. “Councilor Ruthers, I mean.”

“No, I can’t say he is.”

“I shouldn’t be so nosy. But going through the whitenails’ dirty laundry for five years now, I never would have guessed that there was so much I didn’t know.”

Roman took an iron poker from a stand by the fireplace and stirred the burning logs. “You get a rather intimate view of your clients’ personal lives, wouldn’t you say?”

She watched the iron probe the flames. “That’s true.”

“Do you ever snoop on them?” As Jane opened her mouth to answer, Roman turned his head and regarded her with a knowing gaze. She thought back to their meeting at Hollens’s residence.

“Sometimes you can’t help but notice things.”

He nodded. “Well put. And do you think you notice more than most people?”

“I’ve never thought about it. A lot of my job is about attention to detail, though.” She looked up at him, but he stared back, expectant. “I suppose yes, then.”

“And what,” he said, replacing the poker, “do you supposed distinguishes people who notice things from people who don’t?”

Her eyebrows came together on her forehead. “I couldn’t begin to say. It has a lot to do with what people are like, doesn’t it?”

“Take a step back. What makes you a good laundress? I’m assuming, of course,” he said with a smile and a gesture in her direction, “that you’re an excellent one.”

“I know how to fix problems – stains and rips.”

“And how do you know when to fix a problem?”

“Well, first…” She cocked her head and looked up at the mantel. “I know what I’m looking for.”

“Yes.” Roman leaned back in his armchair and propped his left heel on his opposite knee. “You know what you’re looking for.” He smiled at her. “You’ve gotten at the heart of that question. But here’s another: does someone tell you what you’re looking for, or do you figure it out yourself?”

“A bit of both, I guess.” In the silence that followed, Jane feared the unspoken question,
and what are you looking for here?

Instead of asking, Roman kicked his left leg to the floor and sat forward again. “You seem to have a taste for secrets, Jane. If you’re still feeling bold, I’d like to show you something.” Roman tilted his head at her, the question dancing in his eyes. Jane blinked her surprise, a thrill of anticipation swirling in her stomach.

“OK.”

He rose from his chair and moved to the far side of the bookcase, and she followed. “I won’t ask about the most dangerous item you’ve ever come across in a client’s residence,” he said, running his finger across a row of spines, “because I guarantee it won’t top this.” He pushed several volumes aside, revealing blank paneling at the end of the shelf. Pressing against one edge, he slid the dark wood aside to uncover a hidden compartment stocked with an assortment of books and papers. He extracted a thick tome and placed it in her hands.

“
The Riverside Shakespeare
,” she read. “What is this?”

“A collection of plays.” He watched her examine the cover. “Many of them historical.”

Her head snapped up, and she instinctively held the book away from her body. “This can’t be legal,” she whispered.

“Of course not. It’s one of the most dangerous books around.”

She marveled at the cover, hard and worn, with no indication of the sinister enigmas beneath it. It gingerly rested on her fingertips, and she realized that she was holding it out to Roman. He made no move to take it back. “Why?”

“Why is it dangerous? Besides containing history, many of the works inside it demonstrate a disturbing contempt for authority. Rulers are installed and unseated about as often as they sneeze.” His eyes rolled quickly in their sockets, and his even voice rose in pitch. “Heaven forbid people should get the idea that leadership is seized rather than bred.”

“No, why are you showing this to me?”

“You like books. And secrets.” He took the volume from her, replacing it in its compartment. As he leaned it back into its place, her eyes fell on the stack of papers wedged behind it. Shuffled and dog-eared, they stood out from straight-backed books sandwiching them. A worn folder barely kept them together, and Jane could just make out “Prometheus” in faded lettering across the spine. “And I like sharing both with you.”