The Night Gardener (35 page)

“Sort of.” He steadied himself on the wagon, trying to keep off his bad leg. Molly looked around for his crutch but once again could not see it. “I know we canna hurt the tree, but I think we can make it harder to reach. If we take down the bridge, it’ll be a long time before anyone comes near here again. The wood’s too thick to cut down, but I think there’s a better way.” He tapped a canister. “Soon as we’re across that bridge with the family, I’ll pour every drop of oil on the beams and light the whole thing up.”

Molly looked at the rows of rusted canisters. “You sure this isn’t just about makin’ a giant explosion?” she said.

Kip grinned. “That, too.”

By late afternoon, the family was packed and ready to go. Bags and trunks lined the foyer. The last step was Mistress Windsor. Constance had regained consciousness but was still too weak to move on her own.

Molly entered the bedroom with Master Windsor and Alistair to find Constance clutching her breast, panic on her face. “Bertrand!” She sat up. “My ring!”

Master Windsor rushed to her, clutching her hand. “No, my love. No more rings.” He stroked her brittle hair. “We’re getting you out of here. We’re going someplace safe.”

Molly saw Alistair out of the corner of her eye. He was watching his parents, and his usually scornful look had given way to something
more complicated. He bit the inside of his cheek, as if calculating some difficult sum. Molly glanced out the window. The red sun hung just above the crest of the valley. She put a gentle hand on Bertrand’s shoulder. “It’s nearly sundown.”

Master Windsor let go of his wife and stood. The bed frame was too wide to fit through the doorway, and so they decided to carry Mistress Windsor separately from her mattress, which would have to be turned on one side. He carefully lifted her into his arms, while Molly and Alistair dragged the heavy feather mattress out into the hall.

Master Windsor walked behind them, whispering to his wife as one might whisper to a child. By the time they reached the foyer, she seemed to have fallen unconscious once more. Bertrand gingerly lowered her onto the mattress, which Molly and Alistair had placed in front of the stairs. Molly helped Bertrand wrap blankets around his wife’s frame. “If she doesn’t make it …,” he said, touching her sleeping face.

Molly heard the sound of a horse approaching on the drive. “That’ll be Kip with the wagon.”

Bertrand stood up, a suitcase in his hand. He lingered in the middle of the foyer, his eyes drifting from the walls to the windows to the ceiling—one final look at the house he had grown up in.

“I don’t think I’ll miss it,” he said.

“You’d be surprised,” Molly said. But then she added, “That still don’t mean you should stay.”

Bertrand walked to the front door, took the handle, and opened it—

“Evenin’, guvnor!”

Bertrand let out a small shriek of alarm, dropping his suitcase. Molly looked up to see two men propped against the doorway—one improbably tall, the other unusually squat—both reeking with the unmistakable odor of the city. Mister Fig and Mister Stubbs stepped into the house, eyeing the shocked family.

Stubbs grinned. “Goin’ somewhere?”

olly lay on the foyer floor. Her feet and hands were tied with coarse rope, which cut like sandpaper against her skin. She struggled against the binds, trying to find a loose spot to slip her hand through, but none would reveal itself. The room around her was now a wasteland of overturned suitcases and torn curtains and broken furniture.

“Molly, I’m scared,” said a voice in her ear. It was Penny, tied up like the rest of them. Her glasses had fallen off her face and were lying on the floor.

“Hush, love.” Molly forced a smile. “You’ll be fine.” A sort of cascading crash hit her ears. It sounded as if one of the men were pulling books down from the shelves in the study. Unlike on their previous visit, Fig and Stubbs had wasted no time with threats and ultimatums. They had tied up the family almost immediately and begun ransacking the house.

“Sounds like they’re having fun,” Kip muttered from her other side. He had, at first, tried to hide in the stables, but Fig had found
him and put him next to Molly. This, at least, allowed them to talk openly without startling the others.

“We have to get outta here,” Molly whispered, too quietly for Penny to hear. “When that sun goes down, the Night Gardener’ll be here. And somethin’ tells me he’ll still be angry.” She craned her neck, looking through the open front door. The sun over the trees was a boiling red—the last gasps of daylight quickly draining from the sky.

“So much for our simple plan,” Kip said.

Fig and Stubbs wandered back into the foyer with a casual, almost friendly air. Long splinters and bits of cushion fluff clung to their shabby coats. Fig had the Windsor portrait in his hands, holes punched into the canvas. “Lookit this, Stubbs!” He pushed his head through a hole above Constance’s body. “Ain’t I pretty?” he said, making kissing sounds.

“Well—that does it for the study,” Stubbs said, wiping his hands. “Next stop: the bedrooms.” He looked at Master Windsor, who had blood on his face from where they had struck him. “’Less you just want to save us the trouble?”

“I already t-t-told you, I have nothing!” Bertrand sputtered.

Stubbs cocked his head to one side. “An’ I
tuh-tuh-told
you: a man don’t leave his house without squirrelin’ away a few earthly possessions.”

Fig pulled something from Constance’s open trunk. “How’s these for earthly possessions?” He waved a pair of stockings over his head.

“This wasn’t our agreement,” Bertrand said. “You weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow!”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Stubbs said, scratching his head. “When you been in this business long as me and Fig, you learn a few things. Like how folks tend to disappear right when they’re expectin’ you. So we like to pop in a day or two early.” He propped a foot on one of the suitcases. “Which, I think you’ll agree, is a wise precaution.”

The grandfather clock, which had been opened but not overturned, rang seven times. Bertrand exchanged a look with Molly to show that he, too, understood the importance of getting out of the house before nightfall. He turned back to the men, putting on a smile that might have passed for charm in another circumstance. “My good sirs. I owe you both an apology. You’ve come all the way out here, and I’ve been incredibly rude. Take everything—furniture, clothes, the whole house. Only please:
Let us go
.”

Stubbs stood over him, his belly protruding from his coat. “You’re awful eager to go ridin’ out in the dusky fog.” He drew a handkerchief from his vest, and Molly caught a glimpse of the large knife at his belt. “You know, Fig,” he said, polishing his monocle, “I heard that some rich folks sew money right into their clothes—to hide it from robbers and brigands and the like.”

Fig stood up, joining his stout companion. “Now that you mention it, I think I heard that, too.”

“Well, then,” Stubbs said, replacing his monocle, “perhaps this
merits a more
thorough
search.” He drew the knife from his belt and handed it to Fig as one might pass a brush to a painter.

Fig took the knife, flipping it casually in his large hand. He paced the length of the room, pointing the blade at each person as he passed. “Duck … duck … duck …
goose
.”

He had stopped at Constance. The woman, who was only barely conscious, stared at the man towering over her. “B-B-Bertie?”

“No!” Master Windsor pulled against his binds. “Not her! She’s ill!”

“Then she won’t put up a fight,” Fig said, kneeling. With a flourish he removed the blanket from over her body and cut a slice along the side of her mattress—feathers spilled onto the floor. “Tell me when I’m gettin’ warm,” he said and thrust a hand inside her mattress, searching for hidden valuables. Constance recoiled, closing her eyes.

Bertrand thrashed like a madman. “Get away from her!” he screamed.

“Temper, temper!” Stubbs swung a boot, hitting him square in the face.

Bertrand’s head snapped back, and when Molly saw his face again, there was blood coming from his nose. “Please …,” he whimpered.

Molly studied the expressions of the two men, at once gleeful and grim. They looked like they would be more than happy to do this all night. And Molly did not have all night. She searched the floor for a bit of broken glass or a stray nail—anything that she might use to cut the
rope. She again noticed the blade tucked into the back of Fig’s belt. If she could just distract him, she might be able to get it. She closed her eyes and dug deep within to find the part of herself that could, just possibly, save them. When she opened her eyes again, they shone with a spark of determination.

“Had enough?” Stubbs said, striking Bertrand again. “’Cause I could go all night.”

“Hit him all you want,” Molly called over the din. “He ain’t gonna tell you a thing. These rich folks’d rather die than lose a penny to those beneath ’em.”

Silence fell over the room and she felt every person look at her.

“You want to take his place?” Stubbs said, turning.

Molly raised a coy brow, as if to imply she might enjoy such attentions. “You and me ain’t like the Windsors,” she said, a hint of song in her voice. “I could tell it the first time we met. We wasn’t born with silver spoons in our mouths. We gotta take what we can, however we can, and hang the rest.” At this, Stubbs gave an involuntary nod. Molly fought back a smile—it was working. “Take me with you, and I’ll show you the money myself. How does that sound?”

Stubbs screwed up his mouth, clearly at war with his instincts. “What would a little maid know about secret loot?”

Molly tilted her head back, a defiant smirk on her face. “Servants know everythin’ about a house—especially the secrets. This here’s my fifth maid’s job. I work long enough to get the lay o’ things and then
cut loose with all the cash I can carry. Now I’m thinkin’ it’s time I got myself some business partners—maybe take up work cleanin’ a bank in the city?”

“Molls, what’re you doin’?” Kip hissed.

Molly ignored him and continued. “The Windsors never cared about me, an’ I don’t care about them.” She tried not to imagine the look on Penny’s face as she said this. “The way I see it, you two are the comeuppance they got comin‘.”

Stubbs grinned, as if the idea of being the arm of cosmic justice appealed to him.

“There’s a little key in Master Windsor’s waistcoat,” she said. “It unlocks the closet at the top of the stairs. Inside there is everythin’ you could ever want.” She held Stubbs’s gaze in her own. “Everythin’ you
deserve
.” She cast out this last word like a fishhook on the sea.

Stubbs blinked at her, half-hypnotized. The monocle had slipped from his eye and was dangling from a chain on his lapel. He swallowed and nodded to Fig. “Might as well check his coat, eh?”

Fig left Constance and searched Bertrand. “Looks like she was telling the truth,” he said, pulling a key from his pocket.

“You’ll come with us, pet.” Stubbs grabbed Molly’s arm, pulling her up to her feet. “And if it turns out you’re lying … it’ll be cadavers we search next.”

“You gonna carry me up?” she said, indicating her bound ankles. Stubbs rolled his eyes and nodded to Fig to cut her feet free. Molly
felt a rush of circulation as the rope fell from her legs. She watched closely as Fig slid the knife back into his belt—only a few inches away from her hands.

The two men led Molly up the staircase. She truly did not know what would be waiting for them inside the room, but she hoped it would be enough to distract them at least for a moment.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Stubbs took the key and slid it into the lock. “After you.” He tipped his hat and swung the door wide.

Molly took a breath and stepped into the room.