Page 44 of King's Man

Nate was anxious about the dogs and kept a nervous eye on the kennels. But Sam ran quickly and softly, and the dogs stayed quiet. He led Nate along the side of the house, bringing him around to the back. There, a grand set of stairs ran up to what appeared to be a long balcony across the breadth of the building, although on closer inspection Nate could see that there was another set of stairs leading down at the other end. At the mid-point stood a set of elegant French doors made up entirely of windows, which would lead onto the main floor of the house where MacLeod entertained his guests. Bedchambers and other personal rooms would be on the floor above.

The back of the house was dark, and he and Sam crept up the steps, keeping to the shadows until they reached the doors. Moving back, Sam scanned the floor above and then pointed to a dark window to the left of the door. “That’s it,” he whispered. “That’s his study.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He flashed Nate a look that was barely a glitter of moonlight. “I’ve done this before, you know.”

Which was still difficult for Nate to imagine so he simply nodded. “But we can’t climb up the outside of the building.” He glanced at Sam dubiously. “Can we?”

A soft laugh. “No. But watch.” Stepping forward, he pulled something from his coat pocket. It jangled quietly as Sam knelt by the door and inserted it — a key? — into the lock. After several moments of jiggling, he removed it, inserted something else, jiggled some more, cursed beneath his breath, removed that, and tried a third time. Nate glanced around, looking out at the dark gardens, ears pricked for the sound of footsteps. They’d be dreadfully exposed should anyone approach, with nothing but moon shadows to hide them. His pulse quickened as time stretched longer.

Sam swore again, fiddling with the lock, but finally there came a quiet click. “Yes.”

That triumphant hiss made Nate smile despite the way his heart thudded as Sam rose, turned the handle, and pushed open the door. It creaked. Both froze, waiting. Nothing happened. With care, Sam cracked the door a little wider, just enough that they could slip through the gap.

With a gesture, Sam indicated that Nate should follow as he drifted like a shadow through a room lit only by moonlight. Nate did his best to copy his stealth, but it became apparent that Sam had learned new skills since leaving Rosemont. It was difficult to reconcile his life as a criminal with the upright lawyer Nate had known in America, but that honest man had been made an outlaw in his own land and Nate could hardly fault him for acting the part in England. Especially not tonight.

Sam stopped at the room’s door, put a finger to his lips and cocked his head, listening. From deeper in the house came the sound of carousing: male laughter and female giggles. He and Sam shared a look. With luck, the gentlemen — so called — would be too busy to notice the occasional creak of a floorboard.

Creeping from the room, Sam made his way along the corridor to a discreet door at the end. He set his ear to it, listened, and then turned the handle. It opened silently onto a dark staircase and they both slipped inside. No carpets here. Nate’s boots scuffed on bare stone because these were the servants’ stairs. When he closed the door behind him, it was suddenly pitch black; they had no candle to light the way and no window to let in the moonlight.

Ahead of him, he heard Sam suck in a sharp breath. Then another. He sounded panicky. Blindly, Nate put out a hand and found Sam’s arm, squeezing hard. A moment later, Sam’s hand closed over his, fingers gripping tight. Nate moved closer, close enough to whisper, “What’s wrong?”

After a long silence Sam said, “For a moment, I was back in the mine. It was very…” His swallow was audible. “Very dark and confined.”

Simsbury. Nate’s stomach clenched with a queasy mixture of regret and anger. He tightened his hold on Sam’s arm. “Let’s get out of here. Come on. Do we go up?”

“Up, yes.”

Keeping hold of Sam’s hand, Nate fumbled around until he found the banister and then led them up a narrow, turning staircase until he saw light bleeding beneath a door on the next landing. He stopped there, the scant light revealing Sam’s shape next to him, all shadow and glistening eyes. “MacLeod could be up here,” Nate whispered. “The lamps are alight…”

“Do you want to go back?”

“No. I doubt tomorrow will be any better.”

“And at least the light will make it easier to find his rooms.” Sam put his hand on the door, then paused, glancing back. “If there’s trouble, get out anyway you can. Make for the fording point in the river, or up into the woods behind the house if you must. Avoid the bridge. We’ll meet at the cottage if it’s safe.”

Nate’s heart began to pound in earnest, cold fear prickling the back of his neck. Perhaps sensing it, Sam reached out and squeezed his hand. Nate squeezed back hard. Then, without another word, Sam opened the door and led them out into the hallway beyond.

After the dark of the stairs, it was bright, and Nate had to blink a couple of times against the glare. The hallway was wide and luxurious. A thick carpet ran along the center and there were lamps placed along the walls at ostentatiously close intervals. Had they all been alight, the corridor would have dazzled. But Nate wished more of them were doused; there were precious few concealing shadows. At least the carpet allowed them to creep along in silence.

They were halfway down the corridor when footsteps echoed from a large hallway ahead. Grabbing Nate’s arm, Sam ushered them back against the wall. They pressed themselves flat. At the end of the corridor the house opened onto a wide circular landing, and Nate watched with breath held as a liveried servant crossed the space carrying a tray of empty glasses. If the man turned his head, he’d see them, and all would be lost. But he didn’t, he walked straight past and disappeared. After a moment came the sound of his footsteps receding downstairs. Nate let out his breath as softly as possible, shoulders sagging.

In silence, Sam led him onto the marbled landing where they’d seen the servant. It stood at the head of a grand staircase and, beyond it, Nate could see a short corridor leading to an enormous door. Gold leaf gleamed on the elaborate heraldry carved around the frame: two lions rampant supporting a shield that bore the image of a castle, perhaps meant to be Marlborough Castle, topped by a knight’s helm. Ridiculous.

Sam threw him an amused look. “MacLeod’s bedchamber, at a guess.”

“Or throne room. Where’s his study?”

“Not far.” They crept down the corridor towards MacLeod’s monstrous bedroom door but stopped before they reached it. Quietly, Sam turned the handle of a less ostentatious door — it wasn’t locked — and slipped inside. Nate followed, closing the door behind them. Only moonlight illuminated this room, but Sam moved unerringly around a huge desk that sat in front of the window and crouched down behind it.

Nate followed and saw Sam examining a large strongbox partially hidden beneath the desk. It looked impenetrable with a complex locking mechanism on its lid. Nate glanced uncertainly at Sam. “Can you open it?”

“Yes.” Sam flashed him a look, difficult to read in the shadows, but perhaps a mixture of pride and shame. “But it’ll take a few minutes.”

From his pocket, he produced a roll of leather which he unfurled on MacLeod’s desk. Inside were several tools which Sam took a moment to examine. Then, selecting one, he crouched down next to the strongbox and inserted the tool into the lock, leaning down with his ear pressed to the top of the box. Was he listening to it?

With nothing to do but watch and wait, Nate found himself all too conscious of the men and women carousing downstairs. And the possibility — the likelihood — that they’d repair to their bedrooms for further pleasures at any moment. The thought of capture made his breathing shallow and his head light. Deliberately, he held his breath for a count of four before releasing it and doing the same again, a trick Talmach had taught him one night when they’d been too close to the British lines for comfort.

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