Persuasion in the Pantry [Maid for More #1]

Chapter 40 Part 1: Semper Occultus...

(Source: "Court Circular." Times, 10 June 1840, p. 4. The Times Digital Archive.)

Today, as was her routine, the young Queen would be out for an airing.

Today at six o'clock she would be killed.

Verushka looked up at the sun and wished she had the foresight to bring a pocket watch with her. The rays were strong and passed the peak of the day. It appeared that she had spent too long inside Bedlam and would now pay a price greater than the sum of a single penny. At very least it was an hour past midday and every second counted for surely Oxford would lay in wait. Verushka's mind suddenly became very clear and she spun in a slow circle, reading every street sign and building placard until something clicked in her memory.

"Lad, which direction is the small embankment at Vauxhall Bridge?"

"S'over there, through the gardens. But they is closed now." He pointed brandishing the clean hankie in the direction she desired.

"Thanks, and don't exchange that cloth for money!" Verushka yelled over her shoulder as she raced away. Regretfully, she heard the young child's sing-song voice call out as he skipped down the lane.

"I sells it!"

Vauxhall Gardens sat on the south bank of the Thames occupying several acres of land laid out with walks, fountains and gazebos. Although it previously brimmed with plays, dancing couples and Turkish style tents selling all manner of food and frippery, today nothing but wind whistled through the shade of the stately trees. Verushka scaled the low outer wall and pushed herself through the dense hedges that bordered the periphery, grateful for the lack of entertainment. The last firework had gone out less than a year prior and it had remained a famously empty space ever since. Verushka was only required to dodge the occasional vagrant that lingered, as she sprinted under statuesque arches for seemingly endless stretches of time. Never had she despised greenery more as the foliage stretched in unending paths before her. If they gave her one week as a gardener, she mused, she would destroy the lot. Eventually she weaved her way past a domed glasshouse and reached the frontal riverside façade. The building of clay and brick possessed a central arch that was boarded and shut along with all of the windows and Verushka skidded to a halt. The only passageway to the Secret Service safe house on the other side was blocked. Her chest burned with exertion and her feet ached as she looked upon the obstruction, defeated.

Her spirits sagged, and for a moment she experienced the possibility of failure. But Verushka had never been one to linger, lamenting the hand which life had dealt her and the moment passed, as swiftly as one second to the next, taking Verushka's subjugation with it. Her gaze soon fell upon another of the infernal trees that she had the propensity to kill and an idea fluttered into her mind like falling leaves. She aimed for the birch that rested closest to the mammoth outer wall. Verushka grabbed at the lower trunk and scrambled her way to the first fork as it swung dangerously to the side. Dimly she recalled Mina's tree climbing advice and noted that perhaps the slim body of the birch was not ideal to climb, nor were the filamentous branches the best to shimmy along, but such warnings were no longer of use when one was halfway up a tree that threatened to snap.

For once in her life, Verushka was glad that she had not had the time for breakfast and eased herself along a particularly unsteady branch that leaned to the riverside. She began to inch her way along its length when she heard the start of a tell-tale snap. Throwing caution to the wind, she flung herself over the edge using the fractured tree as a pole with which to vault, and landed unceremoniously on the other side of the wall.

Her feet hit the ground and her knees and body followed shortly after as she tumbled into the small ravine. Fortuitously, Verushka stopped just short of the thick waters of the Thames and rose dusting her arms and legs from the silt of mudlarks. She was close to her goal. She could almost smell it, and not just the Thames. Turning west she hopped and tripped with impetuous haste over driftwood and was soon underneath Vauxhall Bridge. A small timber door stood out in the hard stone structure beneath the bridges' foundations. It was not uncommon to have a gatekeeper in such spots but this door bore a lock of iron and brass that belied the secrets it kept within.