to freeze as soon as I held them out into the cold and humid night air. Soon enough, the chill crawled in between my garments, seeking out all the small cracks and fissures. I had to move quickly now.
The first thick vine was far to the right. I held onto the window frame and leaned far out. The fingertips of my right hand barely reached it. The heat of my own blood licked at my skin, prickling me all over as I hauled myself out to catch the vine. Both my feet lost their support and I reeled down and to the side until I found another ivy branch to catch. I hugged it hard, not daring to breathe and not daring to weigh a single ounce more. The vines had started to come off the wall just above my head. The slamming of my heart and the hiss of blood rushing through my head was deafening.
I pressed my brow into the cold evergreen leaves, calmed myself, and listened intently. The noise I had made while colliding with the wall must have appeared much louder to me that it had really been. The night grew dead quiet again. Nothing stirred below me or in the house.
Puffs of frosted breath clouded my view as I climbed further. Only two more yards to go. The vines underneath the other window were thicker, and I reached the sill soon enough. The ivy that had grown into the reveal was painted yellow by the flickering firelight. My hand prickled as I slipped it into the brightness and slowly pushed up to peek through the window.
I don’t know what I had been expecting, but it was certainly not what revealed itself to me: a large room with heavy carpets, expensive furniture, and a lit fireplace that threw light onto my hand and part of my face. There was a bed, which looked much like mine, and that fact made my stomach clench. A woman with a stunning red mane sat in front of the vanity and brushed her hair with a silver brush. My head jerked back. She could possibly see me through the reflection in the looking glass.
Something was wrong, but what precisely? I closed my eyes and scrutinised the picture in my head, but could not find what it was that had disturbed me. Ever so carefully, I peeked through the window again. She was still brushing her hair. Still the same movement, over and over again. Her face in the glass was strangely unmoving, her eyes without depth. It appeared as though she saw neither herself nor her surroundings. She kept brushing the same strand of copper hair, lightly and without interest.
I began to wonder why I had risked two lives with this excursion. Learning what Moriarty was doing to this woman had seemed important to me. Finding that there was nothing to see, that she had not been bound and tortured, made me doubt my decision. One last look through the room and I turned away. Or rather, I meant to. I heard a shriek and saw her face turned towards me. There was terror in her eyes and mine probably reflected it.
As fast as I could, but without throwing myself off the wall, I climbed back towards my window. The thick vine that had seemed close enough the last time I clung to it, now seemed too far off. It was loose. If it came off the wall, my excursion would be revealed. I had no other choice but to climb all the way to the ground, trying to tread only on the few solid ice patches.
Then I heard the dogs barking. Panic stricken, I ran the few yards to the next vine that would lead me back up to my room. I scaled it, repeatedly stepping on the hem of my stupid skirt. The dogs were very close now and their baying would soon wake the entire household. Desperately, I flung myself through my window, tore one stocking off, rolled it into a ball and threw it as far as I could. The dogs saw the thing flying and ran after it, tearing it to pieces as soon as it hit the ground. Now I knew how well trained they were.
Quickly, I yanked off my clothes, threw them into a far corner and pulled my nightgown over my head.
The bang on my door did not come as a surprise. Neither did the low growl as he entered the room
The first thick vine was far to the right. I held onto the window frame and leaned far out. The fingertips of my right hand barely reached it. The heat of my own blood licked at my skin, prickling me all over as I hauled myself out to catch the vine. Both my feet lost their support and I reeled down and to the side until I found another ivy branch to catch. I hugged it hard, not daring to breathe and not daring to weigh a single ounce more. The vines had started to come off the wall just above my head. The slamming of my heart and the hiss of blood rushing through my head was deafening.
I pressed my brow into the cold evergreen leaves, calmed myself, and listened intently. The noise I had made while colliding with the wall must have appeared much louder to me that it had really been. The night grew dead quiet again. Nothing stirred below me or in the house.
Puffs of frosted breath clouded my view as I climbed further. Only two more yards to go. The vines underneath the other window were thicker, and I reached the sill soon enough. The ivy that had grown into the reveal was painted yellow by the flickering firelight. My hand prickled as I slipped it into the brightness and slowly pushed up to peek through the window.
I don’t know what I had been expecting, but it was certainly not what revealed itself to me: a large room with heavy carpets, expensive furniture, and a lit fireplace that threw light onto my hand and part of my face. There was a bed, which looked much like mine, and that fact made my stomach clench. A woman with a stunning red mane sat in front of the vanity and brushed her hair with a silver brush. My head jerked back. She could possibly see me through the reflection in the looking glass.
Something was wrong, but what precisely? I closed my eyes and scrutinised the picture in my head, but could not find what it was that had disturbed me. Ever so carefully, I peeked through the window again. She was still brushing her hair. Still the same movement, over and over again. Her face in the glass was strangely unmoving, her eyes without depth. It appeared as though she saw neither herself nor her surroundings. She kept brushing the same strand of copper hair, lightly and without interest.
I began to wonder why I had risked two lives with this excursion. Learning what Moriarty was doing to this woman had seemed important to me. Finding that there was nothing to see, that she had not been bound and tortured, made me doubt my decision. One last look through the room and I turned away. Or rather, I meant to. I heard a shriek and saw her face turned towards me. There was terror in her eyes and mine probably reflected it.
As fast as I could, but without throwing myself off the wall, I climbed back towards my window. The thick vine that had seemed close enough the last time I clung to it, now seemed too far off. It was loose. If it came off the wall, my excursion would be revealed. I had no other choice but to climb all the way to the ground, trying to tread only on the few solid ice patches.
Then I heard the dogs barking. Panic stricken, I ran the few yards to the next vine that would lead me back up to my room. I scaled it, repeatedly stepping on the hem of my stupid skirt. The dogs were very close now and their baying would soon wake the entire household. Desperately, I flung myself through my window, tore one stocking off, rolled it into a ball and threw it as far as I could. The dogs saw the thing flying and ran after it, tearing it to pieces as soon as it hit the ground. Now I knew how well trained they were.
Quickly, I yanked off my clothes, threw them into a far corner and pulled my nightgown over my head.
The bang on my door did not come as a surprise. Neither did the low growl as he entered the room
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