Into the Dim (Into the Dim, #1)(66)

As the queen stared at us in wonderment, Hectare whispered, “Yes. It is as I told you, child. And we must help them return to their rightful place.”





Chapter 33


“HOW CAN THIS BE?” ELEANOR WHISPERED.

The smile that crinkled Hectare’s craggy face was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. “The sisterhood knows many things, child.”

Eleanor stared hard at Hectare for a long time before she nodded.

“Rachel,” the queen called, though her voice sounded shaken. “I believe I hear boots in the hallway. That would be Captain Lucie, with word of the girls’ brother. Would you kindly allow him entry?”

Rachel’s hand tightened around a lump of coal. When she opened the door, the longing on her face was so plain, I wondered that no one else noticed. William Lucie stared down at her for a long time. Then, remembering himself, he hurried to present himself to his queen. He brought the smell of outdoors with him. Smoke and winter air.

“You found where the brother is kept?” Eleanor asked without preamble.

“Yes, Your Grace.” William bowed low to his queen, then turned to Phoebe and me. “The city watch took the prisoner to one of the lower cells. They will allow no visitors.”

Eleanor grimaced. “I wish I could assist, but even I cannot be seen supporting a thief who stole from the king.”

Next to me, I felt Phoebe bridle at the word “thief.” I reached for her hand, squeezing to keep her quiet as fear, sharp as shattered glass, raked my insides. When Eleanor and Hectare began speaking in low voices, I gestured William and Phoebe to a spot near the wall, so the queen couldn’t overhear.

“There’s no chance we can see him?” I asked William in a hushed voice.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Will—Captain Lucie?” Rachel joined us. “Are these the cells on the south wall, by chance? The ones with the window at ground level?”

William braced himself before he looked at Rachel. A charged moment passed between them as he stared into her eyes. “Yes. I believe so.”

“Mistress”—Rachel turned to me, excited—“I know of these cells. My cousin was held there before he died. There is a small, barred window where you may kneel down and speak with your brother.” She frowned then. “Though I doubt the guards would allow you access to the grounds.”

She bit her lip in thought, then took William’s arm and escorted him to the door. They spoke quietly together. He shook his head, but Rachel persisted. After a moment, he sighed and stared at her, drinking her in as though she was the last cup of water on earth. My mind began to sift through all the sketches I’d ever seen of the medieval Tower of London.

When Rachel returned, she was grinning. “Be near the southwestern corner of the Tower walls at dawn. There is a small gate there, little used. Captain Lucie will let you in.”

As Phoebe thanked her profusely, my mind raced. “Rachel, how big is this window? Could a man get through it?”

“Well . . . yes, I think so.” In seconds, she saw what I wanted to do. But then she shook her head, sadly. “But there are iron bars set across the opening. It would be impossible.”

I gnawed at a cuticle, glancing across the room to where the queen sat, still holding Hectare’s hand. Eleanor’s head was bowed, and her lips moved in silent prayer.

Iron bars. Iron bars.

Chemical formulas wrote themselves in the air before my eyes. My fingers twitched as I discarded one after the other, growling with irritation.

Not invented yet. Too weak. Too volatile. I hesitated, calculating the odds.

“What are you thinking, Hope?” Phoebe whispered.

I looked to Aaron, who was adding a handful of herbs to his pot on the fire. “Rachel, does your grandfather’s apothecary shop carry oil of vitriol by any chance?”

Rachel’s brow wrinkled. “Yes, he makes it, then cuts it with water to clean his steel tools. If he makes an excess, he sells it to the blacksmith.”

My lips struggled to form the words fast enough. “Does he have any now? Uncut? And could you get some and bring it to the side gate at the Tower?”

The confusion on Rachel’s face cleared. “Oh! I see. Yes, of course. Of course I can.”

“Would someone please tell me what you’re talking about?” Phoebe said. “Because I’m about to pop my bloody—” She broke off, clearing her throat as she glanced at Rachel. “Er . . . I am soon to become quite angered.”

I shushed her as Eleanor called for us to join her at Hectare’s bedside. “Later,” I whispered as we obeyed.

“We shall speak more of this on the morrow,” Hectare was telling Eleanor, cutting off her queen’s protest. “I give you my solemn vow that I shall still be in the land of the living. Go back to your husband. And for the babe’s sake, if not your own, get some rest. In any case, I wish to speak with these girls alone.”

When Eleanor sighed in defeat, Hectare placed a hand on her cheek in a sweet blessing that stung my eyes. We both dropped into a curtsy as the queen stood. Eleanor’s eyes were bloodshot. She stared down at Phoebe and me as if we were ghosts.

“There is to be a masque at Westminster Palace tomorrow night, after the coronation. I will take chambers there. Come to me before it begins, and I will see that Lady Babcock attends me. And I . . . I would speak with you.”