‘There are others,’ she said, her voice tightening as the memory rushed back in full force. ‘Girls. Several of them. They are still locked in the cages. I tried to free them, I truly did, but when we attempted to escape, the guards came—’
Her throat tightened.
‘They took them back.’
Her fingers closed desperately around his sleeve.
‘We cannot leave them there.’
For a moment, he said nothing.
Charlotte could see the conflict in his expression—the instinct to remove her from danger battling against the knowledge that she was right.
‘It is too dangerous to remain,’ he said at last, though the certainty in his voice had weakened slightly.
Charlotte met his gaze steadily.
‘It will be quicker if I come with you. I know the way. I know precisely where they are being kept. If you search without guidance, valuable time shall be lost—and time is exactly what we do not have.’
He regarded her properly then, taking in her pale face, the strain in her eyes, and the determination that had endured despite everything she had suffered.
Then, with a decisive nod, he said, ‘Very well.’
Relief flooded through her. For one dreadful moment, she had feared he would refuse—that he would insist upon sending her above ground whilst the others remained behind.
‘But,’ he added sharply, ‘you do not leave my side.’
There was no room for argument in that tone, and Charlotte did not attempt one.
She inclined her head.
‘As you wish.’
He turned towards his men.
‘Four of you remain here with the boy,’ he ordered. ‘The rest—form up.’
Then, turning back towards her, he extended his hand.
‘Show me.’
Charlotte placed her hand in his without hesitation, and together they moved quickly through the tunnels.
She guided the way, retracing the path she had taken in blind panic only moments earlier, though now each turn and branching corridor seemed burned sharply into her memory.
Lord Stanley walked beside her, slightly ahead, instinctively positioning himself between her and any possible threat.
Behind them, the Bow Street Runners followed in silent formation, lanterns casting flickering light across the damp walls.
The air felt thick and close. Every breath carried the suffocating scent of damp earth and decay.
Charlotte suppressed a shudder but did not falter.
‘There are symbols,’ she whispered back. ‘Carved into the beams. I noticed them before—I think they mark the routes.’
Her voice faltered slightly as she recalled the strange markings upon the logs.
Lord Stanley glanced at her.
