The Silk Thief Read Online Free Page B

cautiously pushed the door: it creaked open onto more wooden steps — steep and extremely rickety — and a dense blackness that smelt dryly of dirt and of something vaguely organic, like mushrooms.
    Friday dug in the pocket of her robe for matches, lit her lamp and handed it to Sarah, who said, ‘Why do I have to go first?’
    ‘I don’t like small spaces.’
    Sarah had forgotten that. She took the lamp in one hand, gathered her skirts with the other, and carefully descended the stairs, each riser protesting beneath her weight, such as it was.
    The cellar had been excavated into the hill on which the house sat, Argyle Street rising with the slope, the raw rock surfaces pointed for stability but nothing more. The remainder of the cellar walls — those not underground — were made from roughly mortared sandstone rubble. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Leo, who was close to six feet tall, could stand comfortably.
    The space wasn’t, in fact, small: it appeared to extend to the four corners of the house above and did, as Elizabeth had informed Friday on an earlier occasion, contain a fair bit of furniture. Many pieces were draped with sheeting, giving them a neglected, even ghostly, appearance, but others stood naked, their surfaces dulled by accumulated grime and a dry sort of mould. Visible were three or four nightstands with doors missing, a listing dining table against which were propped several headboards, three battered bureaux, a chaise with exploding stuffing, a cheval looking-glass frame minus the actual glass, a couple of battered travelling trunks piled against a wall, half a dozen wooden chairs in various states of disrepair, two coat stands with broken arms, and a dented and tarnished brass fender.
    ‘Doesn’t she throw anything out?’ Leo asked.
    ‘Shush.’ Friday pointed urgently at the floor above. ‘Someone’ll hear us.
    ‘What’s this?’ Sarah said, kicking a long, rolled-up tube on the ground. ‘Carpets?’
    An absolutely gargantuan spider shot out the end of it, scuttling straight for her skirts. She let out a strangled squeak and leapt back at least five feet.
    ‘God, that’s a big one,’ Friday remarked. ‘Hope you’re not scared of spiders, Walter.’
    Walter stepped forwards and stamped on it.
    Leo said, ‘Lucky Clifford’s not here. She’d eat that. Oh, sorry, lad.’
    Shrugging, Walter stared down at his boots.
    ‘You don’t need me any more, do you?’ Sarah asked. ‘I’ll wait in the alley.’
    ‘Hang on,’ Friday said. ‘What do we do about the locks?’
    ‘Nothing. The door’ll look locked when you close it. As long as no one tries it, we’ll be fine.’
    ‘But if they do?’ Friday persisted.
    ‘I’ll say I broke in,’ Walter said.
    Leo patted his shoulder. ‘Good lad. But it won’t come to that.’
    Friday said to Sarah, ‘Well, in that case, you might as well go home. Thanks for your help.’
    ‘Thank you,’ Walter echoed.
    ‘My pleasure,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ll come and see you off on Thursday, shall I? Is that all right?’ she asked Leo. ‘Which wharf?’
    ‘King’s. You can, if you don’t make a fuss.’
    ‘As if,’ Sarah said. She never made fusses. She scooted up the steps and disappeared outside.
    ‘Right,’ Leo said to Walter, ‘you’ve enough food and drink to last till Thursday, and half a dozen candles. Do not go out, do you hear me? And get some sleep. You’ll need it.’
    ‘Why?’ Friday asked.
    ‘He’s working his passage on the ship.’
    Friday pecked Walter on the cheek. ‘I can’t visit you down here in case someone sees me, but I’ll come and see you off, too, eh? And I know Harrie’ll want to as well.’
    ‘It’ll be a proper little party, won’t it?’ Leo’s voice caught slightly. He pulled Walter into a rough hug. ‘Get some rest, son. I’ll be back on Thursday evening.’
    ‘I will,’ Walter said.
    After closing the cellar door firmly behind Leo and Friday, he took a candle from his jacket