Chapter 13 - The Drainage Tunnel
The acrid chemical fog burned Jonathan’s lungs as he dropped to his hands and knees, plunging headfirst into the dark, narrow drainage tunnel. The brick walls were slimy with moisture, and the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and old iron, but it was oxygen. He crawled as fast as his trembling limbs could manage, scraping his shoulders against the jagged stone ceiling as he followed the downward slope of the pipe.
Above him, the muffled sounds of the mansion seemed distant, like echoes from another world. He knew Marcus and Arthur were moving fast. Every second he spent crawling through the filth was a second they had to reach the nursery and take Evelyn away.
After what felt like an eternity, a faint amber glow filtered through the end of the tunnel. Jonathan pushed forward with a final burst of adrenaline, shoving his way past a rusted iron grate and tumbling out onto the cold, damp tiles of the underground pump room directly beneath the glasshouse conservatory.
He lay on the floor for a long moment, coughing violently as he dragged fresh air into his burning lungs. Slowly, he pushed himself up to his feet, wiping the grime from his face.
Through the glass floor panels above him, he could see the silhouette of the conservatory. The hanging roses cast long, eerie shadows under the moonlight. But it wasn't empty.
Two figures stood near the flower-adorned swing.
Jonathan crept silently up the spiral service stairs leading directly into the conservatory. Peering through the dense foliage of the fern display, his blood ran cold.
Arthur Vance stood holding a leather-bound travel bag, while Martha stood squarely in front of him, blocking the doorway to the interior hallway with a heavy iron garden spade gripped tightly in her weathered hands.
"Step aside, old woman," Arthur snarled, his voice echoing off the glass panels. "You've played your loyal servant routine long enough. The child is coming with me."
"You'll have to bury me in this glasshouse first, Arthur," Martha replied, her voice completely steady, devoid of a single trace of fear. Her silver-grey hair was disheveled, but her eyes blazed with a fierce, protective fire. "I watched your father ruin this family, I watched you fake your own death like a coward, and I'll be damned if I let you lay a hand on Eleanor’s baby."
Arthur laughed darkly, pulling a heavy brass revolver from his trench coat pocket and pointing it directly at Martha’s chest. "Loyalty is a very overrated virtue, Martha. Let's see how well it stops a bullet."
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Jonathan didn't hesitate. He burst out from behind the fern display, lunging across the tiled floor like a striking animal just as Arthur’s finger began to squeeze the trigger.
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