2Inspired by a tumblr writing prompt...
Chapter One:
I freeze.
A shaft of light pierces the dark hallway, lamp swinging in an arc as the butler makes his last rounds for the night. Pressed against the wall, I don't dare to even breathe, even though I'm well out of range of his lamplight, not to mention his failing eyesight. He stands there for a few moments, then turns and shuffles on.
I let my breath out in a sigh of relief. There's a daguerreotype in a silver frame on the mantle beside me. I take it, not bothering to glance at the photo before I stuff it into a satchel. I test the weight of my bag. Hefty.
My next stop is the kitchen, where the silverware sits, hardly protected by thin glass panes. The key to the cabinet has been tucked under a broken teacup left in a nearby drawer. Soon my satchel is nearly double the weight. But is it enough?
I creep toward the back door, pausing with my hand on the knob. Turning, I open another drawer and take a small purse from within. The money the butler keeps for market runs. "Sorry, George," I whisper.
Then I leave.
The stables are just a short walk from the manor, standing still and quiet under the moon. I swerve around them at the last moment and toward the garage instead. There she is, my shiny black steed, dormant in her dark stall.
I approach, tossing my satchel of loot and a small bag of belongings into the back seat. I hop in the front and scoot into the driver's seat, a familiar place. First I ignite the pilot light, opening the throttle once it's lit. The motions of starting the motorcar have been drilled into me by years of practice. By now, I can light the burner, drain the excess water from the boiler, and pump the air pressure to a satisfactory level all within a couple of minutes. I fire the burner up quickly instead of doing it slowly and patiently as I was taught, twiddling with the valve to keep it going.
"So sorry, my love. We've got to hurry tonight."
Checking the water level, I give the valves and levers a few extra tweaks, pulling the throttle smoothly back and pushing it forward again so the engine can warm, waiting for steam to trickle through the vents.
"Miss 'Relle?"
The quiet, gravelly voice startles me out of my skin. I jump and hurriedly slide down from the driver's seat, landing on my feet with a bump. "Andrew! What are you doing out so late?"
"I could ask the same of you, miss. You shouldn't be out here at this hour. Your mother will have a conniption fit if she finds out."
"Please don't tell her, Andrew."
"What are you doing out here anyway?"
I cast about for an excuse. "It's been ages since I've had her out on the road," I tell the old driver, gesturing at the motorcar behind me. "And it won't be long before I never see her again. Let me take her out, please."
He glances over my shoulder, into the back of the vehicle, gaze landing on my satchel of loot, my bag of clothes. Then he looks at me.
"Please," I whisper. "I don't want to marry him."
Andrew hesitates, shifting his weight like a creaky old river reed. His old blue eyes fix on me. "I've known you since you was a pup, miss. Your parents, your grandparents—my employers and my friends. You'll break their hearts."
"They already broke mine."
A long pause follows, filled only with the sound of venting steam. It begins to swirl around us in wispy white clouds.
"You close the drain valves?" Andrew finally asks.
"Not yet."
"Get in. I'll do it."
Gratefully, I climb back into the driver's seat and call back, "Don't forget to check for water in the cylinders."
He pauses, bent over the cylinder drain valve. "Who taught you to drive, miss?"
"Sorry."
Andrew pats the body of the motorcar when he's done and takes a step toward me, affectionately running his hand along the sleek lines of the vehicle. He's the only one on the entire estate that might know more about her than I do.
"Are you going to the villa in the south?" he asks. "You always loved that place as a girl."
"I can't tell you. You know that."
"Do you have a plan? You can tell me that, at least."
"Yes. I'll be alright, Andrew." Pausing, I add, "Would you tell my parents—"
He stops me with a raised hand. "I won't be telling them anything, miss. They can't know I was ever here."
He's right, of course. I nod and tighten my hands on the steering wheel. The motorcar puffs and hisses. It's time.
"Goodbye, Andrew."
"Goodbye, miss."
I give the air pressure pump a few more strokes and turn the engine over. Turning on the hand brake, I glance back at Andrew, watching as he takes the back wheels off the jack.
Without another word, I pull out of the garage and make my way out onto the road, not daring to look over my shoulder until I'm well out of sight.
…
It's nearly completely dark, the moon sinking below the mountains on the far horizon. I've got a thick coat and gloves on, my hair pulled into a snug braid, but the wind's got a bit of winter still clinging to it, and it bites at my face, my wrists, finding the gaps in my coat and chilling me to the bone.
Home is far behind. As much as I'd like to turn back, put the motorcar away, and burrow into my bed by a hot fire, I have no choice but to keep going forward. Better to leave than wait to be sent away.
My eyelids droop. I haven't been sleeping well since news broke of the engagement. My engagement. The last thing I need is another all-nighter like this one. I glance at the timer, illuminated by a tiny yellow light. If it's right, I've still got at least another hour until I reach the nearest village.
The scenery has changed. No longer am I driving through gently-sloped hills and fields of crops. The forest surrounds me, dark and strange. The motorcar's lights barely seem able to illuminate the road in front of me.
One more hour, I tell myself. You can do it.
The trees blur together in the darkness. My head is heavy. I blink forcefully and take a deep breath, shaking myself a little. Am I shivering? My teeth clench painfully.
I blink again, just for a moment, slowly. One second. Two seconds. Three—
The next thing I know, the motorcar bumps over a rock in the road. I jolt awake just in time to watch the front end of the bonnet dive toward a ditch. Swerving, I manage to yank the vehicle back onto the road. It splutters in protest, wobbling unsteadily.
"No, no, no!"
The motorcar jostles forward for a few moments before I can pump on the brake, too slow to stop the familiar lurch that follows. The front bumper dips as my left wheel comes loose and spins off into the forest while the rest of the motorcar grinds to a halt, slamming me into the steering wheel.
For a moment, I'm frozen, draped over the wheel, my limbs like lead. I slowly regain feeling and fumble for a torch. Andrew always keeps one tucked in the back—
My fingers close around the familiar steel cylinder. I ignite the torch, its faint circle of light shaking as I direct it at the dash, checking the long line of gauges. Everything seems alright except…the pilot light. It's out.
I curse softly to myself.
It's a routine setback, nothing that can't be fixed. I've lost wheels before when taking sharp and unexpected turns, but because the pilot light has been extinguished, it's going to take at least another ten minutes or so to get the motorcar up and running again, and that's only if I can find the wheel quickly in the dark, in the thick underbrush, in a dangerous and unfamiliar forest.
"Well you're not going to find it sitting here, you ninny."
I climb down, the motorcar still steaming behind me as I stumble in the general direction of the lost wheel.
"It must have gone this way…maybe."
My torchlight flickers over the shambolic jumble of undergrowth in front of me. The wheel hasn't left any sort of trail behind. Meanwhile, the forest around me fills with creaking moans and rustling foliage, creatures scurrying in the periphery of my vision. Should I have brought a gun? My father mostly owns hunting rifles longer than I am tall, but I know of a few pistols I could have taken fairly easily.
Too late.
Something moves in the brush, lights suddenly fixing on me, blinding me before I can react.
"Looking for this?"
Shielding my eyes with a hand, I squint through the light at a cluster of large, scruffy men. One near the middle steps forward and winks at me with a grin, something clenched in his hands.
My lost wheel.