March 13th 1872
Que
The night of the fire.
"Hey, I've always wondered, what happened to your eye?"
With the eye that wasn't covered by an eye patch, Whitney fixed me a glare that would have made plants wither. It was not a question she appreciated, clearly. But I'd always been curious, and I figured that I may not ever see her again after tonight, so why not try at least? It didn't seem as though she wanted to sate my curiosity though. She continued to glare, then sighed and turned back to her previous occupation, which was sharpening an already razor sharp knife. As usual, she said nothing. I didn't take it as a bad sign though, in fact I've never once seen her smile. Just once, I'd like to see it. Only once.
Tonight was it. The final act. This was to be our final job, and afterwards we were to split up with the massed fortunes that we would acquire. The thought was a little sad, as I would much rather keep the meaningful, if rather odd, friends that I had made. I want to see Felix one last time, at least. To say a proper goodbye to him, before we part ways for good.
But even these reminiscences, these longings for the future, faded from my mind when I thought of her. Rosalynn. Felix had promised me that he would help me find her again. True to his word as always. Tonight I will see her once more, see her face, see how she has grown. Her absence will once again be filled. The young girl that I found in the ashes will return once more to me. Her smile, her walk, her music. Not only the music that she coaxes from the keys of the piano, but the music in the way she talks, in the way she lives.
I won't ask her to stay. She left of her own volition, she made up her mind, and as much as I wish her to come back with me for good I will not ask it of her. She is, after all, a grown woman now, and she can make her own way in the world. But I need to speak with her, to right wrongs of our past, and I need to tell her that my door will always be open to her. That she will always be welcome, and that she will always find a home in mine. I hope she will understand. And after tonight, I will finally be able to promise her with certainty a life that will be free of poverty, of worry. I will promise her happiness, but the choice to accept it will be hers and hers alone.
Whitney stood, the wooden legs of her chair scraping the floor with a creak. She slipped the knife she held into a pocket, and said simply,
"It's time."
Chapworth Manor. It loomed above us, an impressive sight to behold. Lit up by flaming sconces on the outer walls, the night cast long shadows up the walls. It was an awe-inspiring piece of architecture, overbearing and dominating its landscape. But to me, it has always seemed...cold. The light that spills from the doorways is a cold one, unwelcoming and condescending.
I sniffed. A faint scent of smoke tainted the air, probably a large hearth fire in a close-by room. We hid in the dense bushes of the surrounding gardens, invisible to any passersby. Not that there would be any at this time of night. This night had been chosen with strategy and tactical advantage in mind, as tonight was to be the night where everyone would be too busy dancing and drinking to notice us. The guests were all in the ballroom, the serving staff in the kitchen and the maids and butlers attending to the needs of the party. No one would be paying any attention to where Chapworth conducted his business. His office. His vault.
It was only Whitney and I now, dressed as members of the serving staff. Tonight, we should be indistinguishable from the household employees. The others waited behind. Oliver's work was done when he ripped the back gate clean of its hinges for us to make our entrance. One has to admire his brute strength, but he is completely useless when it comes to stealth. And to be perfectly honest, he ain't the smartest tool in the shed either. Dexter's role was to wait under the guise of being a chauffeur, sitting atop our carriage and preparing for our getaway. He wasn't exactly disappointed to not be joining in on the action, rather I think he was actually quite pleased to draw the short straw, the easy job. Lay bastard, I say. But still, I'm not complaining. Once we complete the plan as Felix described to us, then I have my own mission to complete. To find Rosalynn.
As Felix promised, the back door swung open at precisely 9pm, and out stepped a portly looking chef. He glanced around, checking that no one was observing him. Not seeing us, and assuming that he was alone, he struck a match and lit a cigarette, sending puffs of smoke into the night. According to Felix, this man steps out for a smoke at the same time every single night, without fail. This unwavering routine was our ticket inside. He coughed and spluttered a little, and then he put out his cigarette on the side of the brick building. He took another glance around, and for a moment my breath caught when I thought that he had spotted us, but he just turned around and walked back inside with a contented sigh.
Before the door swung closed, Whitney darted forward and placed a slip of paper between the lock and the close, preventing the door from being able to shut fully. This gave us our entrance route, now all we had to do was wait. Wait for Felix St Luca to give us the signal.
I just pray that he hasn't gone and done anything impulsive.
While there is no question that Felix is intelligent, that his intentions are clear and his plans are just crazy enough to work, he is not exactly known for his carefully deliberated decisions. He is not someone who plans his actions in advance. Although I cannot claim that his impulsive decisions have ever led us astray, I still would prefer that he stick to the plan for once. And God help us if he doesn't.
Whitney shivered, and I too was growing a little cold. The night was getting colder and the wind was picking up, and the indoors suddenly looked very inviting and warm indeed. Where the hell was Felix? He should have signalled us by now. His signal was two long whistles, followed by three short sharp whistles in succession. What made him choose such an annoying signal, I've no idea, but we definitely should have heard it by now. He has been delayed, obviously, but hopefully it was just a minor setback.
The smell of smoke on the air was much stronger now, and the wind was blowing thin wisps of smoke towards us. I wondered where it was coming from, but that wasn't a concern of mine right now. I gritted my teeth and thought of all of the curses I would bestow upon Felix James St Luca when I get my hands on him. That idiot. If he has screwed this up for us, I swear to God...
"Que," Whitney whispered, grabbing my attention. "Look. Over there."
I moved my gaze to where she gestured, and my heart stopped. Flames. Fire engulfed one or two of the rooms in the est wing, and now that I was listening I could hear it crackling. The smoke in the air was thicker now. I gasped, and I could almost taste the smoke now. It tasted like ash in my mouth. The flames hissed and they licked up the side of the building, and I heard a window shatter. Without thinking, I leapt to my feet and began to run. Not away from the fire, as all instincts were screaming, but towards it. With only one thought in my mind.
Rosalynn.
I tore from our hiding place, hardly noticing when branches ripped my clothing and tore at my long hair. I think that Whitney tried to hold me back, and I'm pretty sure I heard her call my name, just once, but I took no heed. I have come so far since that evening, when I sat wallowing in my despair and Felix gave me an out. He promised me that this day would come. I'll be damned if I let it slip away now. I lost her once, never again.
I flung the door open, and I sprinted up the stairs. I ran and ran, twisting and turning down the labyrinthine hallways of the manor. I knew the way like the back of my hand now, after so many weeks of preparation. This wasn't exactly how I had intended to make my entrance though. Not shielding my face from smoke and dripping with sweat from the increasing heat. No, it wasn't supposed to be like this. The best laid plans, right?
Mine weren't the only footsteps that sounded. I could hear the sounds of many others trampling their way to the exits, and I caught glimpses through windows of people running. Every last one of them could burn for all I care, though.
I don't know how I knew for sure, but I had a gut feeling. A feeling that Rosalynn wasn't caught in the fire. She was responsible for it. I knew that she had never forgiven the Chapworth company for its negligence, the ignorance that caused the death of her parents. And I knew the day she left that she would seek revenge, one day. And how ironic of her, to send the manor into flames the way the factory had burned with her parents inside. Maybe she wanted Chapworth's children to weep among the ashes as she had. Mourn and suffer the way she had.
The fire was her doing. It must be.
The smoke was so thick it was stinging my eyes and burning my throat as I tried to breathe, but I kept running. I turned a corner and almost ran straight into a solid wall of flames, tearing through floors and turning the walls black. I reeled back from the intense heat, and then I saw her.
Even though I had not seen her in years, she was unmisteable. She walked among the flames as easily as one might walk through a breeze. Her dress was singed and smudges of soot coloured her face and arms, but the expression on her face was serene. Not serene exactly, as that word implies that she was peaceful, but her face was calm. I believe in no God, but if I was a religious man I might have called her a demon. A demon of the flames, because that is how she looked. She took a few steps towards me, surprise registering on her face, and it was only then that I remembered how to move.
I wanted to say so many things at that moment. This was neither the time, nor the place, for a reunion, but even so there were so many things that were left unsaid in years past, mistakes to rectify. I wanted to tell her that I was sorry that it took me this long. I wanted to tell her that I shouldn't have been such a coward, and wallowed in my self-pity. I wanted to tell her that the only reason I kept living was the hope that I would one day see her again. But I didn't say any of these things. I knew that she would never come, that she probably intended to burn along with this place, but I couldn't let that happen. So instead I held my hand out to her.
"I once said that I'd always take care of you," I said. "Let me keep my promise."
She said nothing, but I didn't wait for an answer. I could feel her resistance, but I grabbed her hand and turned. Together we ran, flames close on our tails. The heat was breathing down our necks, and it felt like the flames were just waiting for their opportunity to devour us.
So we ran.