"Is that you, Lacey?" His voice was little more than a croak. "Where are we?"
"In a cellar underneath the miller's house. You'll ask me next where Cooper is, but I do not know. He's hurt, but he survived."
"If Morgan is dead, Cooper will pay." His tone held finality. Cooper would not escape.
"Only if we can get out of this cellar," I said.
"It will not matter. He will pay. Even if I do not survive, Morgan's brother is not the forgiving sort." Denis groped for the flask in my hand, took it from me, and had another sip. "What interests me more is why Cooper did not kill us."
"Maybe he has. If Morgan and the windmill keeper are both dead, we might be stuck here. The tide has cut us off. It might be a week or more before anyone realizes that Waller has not come to the village for his provisions."
"I do not intend to wait a week. Tell me about this cellar."
In the pitch dark, I could do no more than recall what I'd seen before the trapdoor slammed shut. "About ten feet by ten feet, seven feet to the ceiling. Nothing down here but earth."
"Seven feet should not be difficult to overcome," Denis said.
"And I intend to make the attempt once I can stand up without falling over," I answered.
I heard Denis push himself to a sitting position. His voice, when it came, was close to my ear. "I haven't had to fight anyone in truth for a few years now. I am going soft."
"I suppose attending Gentleman Jackson's is not something you can do."
He made a quiet sound, like a laugh. "Gentleman Jackson would turn away the likes of me. I do have a go with my bodyguards to keep my hand in, but the trouble is, they hold back."
"They are afraid of the consequences if they hurt you," I said.
"I know. I will have to correct this oversight."
"You can always spar with me," I suggested. "I am a good fighter, in spite of it all, and I would not hold back."
"No, I imagine you would not." Denis made another sound, this one of pain, as he shifted. "Which begs the question, why did you not kill me while I lay here?"
I shrugged, though I knew he could not see me in the dark. "Maybe I had no wish to be trapped down here with your dead body."
I knew he did not believe that, but he said nothing. We sat in silence for a time, each of us gathering our strength.
The fight had taken much out of me, and my leg hurt like fire. Denis was younger and stronger-he'd recover faster. Then I might have to face the possibility that he, who had far less honor than I pretended to have, would kill me here, ridding himself of the captain who so irritated him.
But then, he'd shot Cooper, when the man would have beaten me into certain death.
"I am sorry about Cooper," I said.
He did not answer right away. I imagined he was glad of the dark, where he could fight his demons without me being able to see.
"Cooper was a mistake," Denis said. "I'd thought…"
He'd thought Cooper had come to care for him as he had for Cooper- like father and son, one of Denis's men had said. Cooper had taught Denis to fight, had brought him safely through the rough life on the streets. If Denis had not become wealthy, had not provided Cooper a soft billet and much money, would Cooper have turned on him long ago?
Denis must be wondering the same thing. I might have taken satisfaction that he was getting a taste of what it felt like to be used, but at the moment, I pitied him.
"You shot at him," I said. "But you only grazed him. On purpose?"
"Not at all," Denis said, voice as cold as ever. "I shot to kill. He heard me and moved in time. Believe me, my aim is true."
I could not stand. I had to half crawl, half drag myself to the nearest wall, brace myself on it, and climb to my feet. I did not bother stifling my sounds of pain. I leaned against the wall and struggled to catch my breath.
"Perhaps you should pay your lackeys more," I said. "Easton tried to take all those paintings from you. Ferguson found them in the windmill. I wonder whether Ferguson would have tried to make off with them, if Cooper hadn't come across him."
"I pay them more than they would get trading their talents to anyone else," Denis said. "Easton made more out of me than from his farm or the half-pay he receives from the army."
"Even so, those paintings could bring them much more."
I heard Denis trying to leverage himself to his feet. His words came breathily. "What you are seeing is the natural greed of man, Lacey. If a man catches a whiff of untold wealth, he will do anything to get it. Even a small amount of money can release the greed." One more puff of breath, and his voice returned to normal. "I've seen men kill each other over a few coins."
I had too, so I could not argue. " You now have untold wealth," I said. "At least, you seem to."
"Yes, and I did everything I could to get it. I vowed, when I was a lad, that I'd never sleep in a dung cart again. Granted, the cart was warm."
"I am sorry about that."
"You are, aren't you? Captain Gabriel Lacey, friend to the downtrodden. You grew up in a manor house, protected by many, while I grew up alone, fending off those who would prey on me. Now, you eke out a living while I live in luxury. And yet, you are highly respected, while I will ever be the boy who slept in the dung cart." He did not sound resentful. He stated a fact.
"I am sorry about that as well," I said.
He actually laughed, but it was a controlled laugh. "You may keep your respectability, Captain. I will take the disapprobation of the many, while I lie in clean sheets and gaze at beauty created by men who also had to grub for their living. So many artists never received the money promised them for their paintings. They died in poverty while their patrons ate from silver spoons and hung the stolen artwork on their walls. At least what was in the painters' hearts lives on for us to enjoy today."
"Very poetic," I said.
"I am apt to wax poetic in dire circumstances. Can you walk over here? I believe I have found the trapdoor."
I limped toward his voice. My walking stick was in the room above us; at least, it was if Cooper hadn't absconded with it. He'd been badly hurt, and the tide must still be rising. Had he made it to dry ground or would he be waiting for us to emerge?
One obstacle at a time.
I reached Denis. I lifted my arms to feel what he felt, but I had to lean against him to do it. He remained firmly in place, letting me rest my weight on him.
"Here," he said.
I felt wood set in stone, boards about a foot above our heads. Without a word, we both pushed.
The boards would not budge. Cooper must have wedged the trapdoor or dragged something heavy over it.
"Hmm," Denis said, as though we faced nothing more dire than a bad hand of cards. "How are you at digging?"
"With my bare hands, through the walls?" I thought of the cool, damp stone that lined the room. "It could be done, I suppose, but I imagine we'd hit water right away. We might drown instead of starving to death."
"How about digging upward? We find floorboards instead of whatever Cooper has used to wedge the trapdoor."
"Worth a try, I suppose."
In the next hours, I realized what a resourceful man Denis was. He had both of us turning out our pockets for whatever useful tools we might have, and allowed neither of us time to speculate what would happen if we did not escape.
My pockets produced, in addition to my flask, a small knife, a gold card case-a gift from Lady Breckenridge-a few coins, and a handkerchief. Denis had a knife-larger and sturdier than mine-a handkerchief, a short piece of rope, and balls and powder for his pistol. Denis also had a watch fob, but it was unadorned, unlike Rafe Godwin's, which had been hung with all sorts of junk. Like Grenville, Denis dressed expensively but austerely.
"Rope," I said, touching the small coil.
"Useful for tying things," Denis said. "The black powder interests me the most. We might use it to shatter stones above us."